The Hessian Wyrm
by Shadoobie
Summary: **(Hunter AU)** Claire Farron is a hunter of horrid creatures and is finally of age to do so on her own. (Rated M for violence, language, and adult themes)


**Claire Farron and the Hessian Wyrm**

 **Part One**

The air was heavy, a thick mist hanging over the barren, rocky ground. And it reeked of rot. Everything was painted a thin, filmy gray; withered trees, stones and tangled, exposed roots, puddles of mud and muck. All of it was drab and washed out. Nothing was alive out here in this... _nowhere_.

But Claire knew better.

There was something alive out here. Something horrible, something only whispered about in fear. Something she had come all this way just to kill. To kill and show the world she was a hunter.

Carefully, quietly, Claire worked her way through the twisting wastes and burrows of this place, seeming unfazed by the stink in the air. With eyes fixed forward, tracking any stray movement in the mist, she never looked down, knowing what was there. Remains. Mostly human. Piles and straggling bits accumulated over the weeks that had passed since the creature stirred from hibernation and alerted the nearby denizens of its existence. The reports started out small, as they often do with monsters this big. Its incredible size made suspect by the only traces of it, rubbings in the grass and dirt as wide as a wagon, but identical to that of a large serpent.

Less deer in the area, though its the peak of season. Then pets disappear. Then cattle. Then children. That's when the panic starts and the contracts for hunters go out.

That's where Claire picked it up, at Winhill's town hall, snatching it right off the bulletin board to show her aunt and uncle, convince them to let her take it. And while they had all the reasons in the world to say no, _she_ had all the arguments to counter them. She had taken ten solo hunts and all of them had been successful. And some of those marks were no pushovers either.

Mistukuni, the Bone Witch of Wutai and her consort, Toshi Inkwing.

Ozma, the keeper of Heaven's Garden.

Yiazmat, Dragon of the Cataract.

But even none of them were, by the looks of things, _this big_.

But Claire wasn't afraid. She was going to bag this thing if it was the last thing she ever did. She left Winhill with that mindset, with her aunt and uncle's blessing. As reluctant as they were to give it.

 _"We'll be nearby, the next town. Just in case."_ Her aunt had said. But Claire wouldn't argue that, knowing it would be no use.

And now she was here, tracking the creature to its lair. The trail was old where she began, what was left of the village of Hess where the creature first emerged from its burrow in the wastes. But the tracks were still good, the sheer weight of the beast enough to leave a deep impression in the soft soil. Following the rubbings were easy until she got deep into the waste, where the mists rose from the rot and mud, leaving her to judge direction by how firm the dirt was beneath her feet. Too much give, and she would be off the trail.

Her only anxiety was what else was lurking about in the mist. She didn't know the area, not a soul either alive or willing to be her guide into the heart of the waste. She had suspicions, knew what sort of critters called places like this home, but there was no sign of them yet. Perhaps the presence of this wyrm had chased them all off. Still, she kept a knife at the ready. She kept her silver saber at her hip and the blessed shield of Etro on her back. And she wasn't about to risk revealing her presence to the beast if it was as yet unaware by using a gun.

There was no telling how deep she had gone, could have been a mile from the remnants of the village. There were few traces of the creature aside from its tracks until she crossed this point and came into where the mist was thickest, as was the foul stench of the beast's leavings. And now came about the faint odor of sulfur. The more steps she took forward, the stronger the smell became. She had to be close now.

Claire stopped herself from a stumble as she stepped over an uplifted root, grabbing hold of the tree nearest to her when she realized the ground gave way to a sort of ravine. Once aware of the drop and the shape of it, she eased her way down, following the trail hidden beneath the scattered veil of mist. The rubbings went straight down, to its end some fifty yards or so on. She put the knife back into her boot, her instincts dictating the action. She could feel the small hairs on her neck bristling, her heart rate spiking as she worked the shield onto her left arm and the silver saber into her right hand. Its den had to be down there. It just had to be.

The heaviness of the air, its stillness, the mist and the stench only grew as she stepped out of the ravine and into open ground. The fetor of sulfur was overpowering now, enough to make her eyes water, and it was coupled with traces of dead flesh. That's a smell you just don't miss. By the gods, what a stink. She rubbed her eyes with her forearm, fighting a sneeze. The earth was solid beneath her feet, packed by repeated movement of the wyrm coming and going from feedings. If she could see through the haze, Claire would see the desiccated skeletons of a few trees adorned in dangling clumps of moss. The tallest of this withered statuary was partially lifted from its original place, its roots twisted in a cage like fashion surrounding what could be described in no other way than a hole. It was the beast's burrow. A darkness so deep it could swallow you.

And within that darkness, at the heart of the burrow some ten or more feet beneath the ground, it stirred. Hearing the pitter-patter of human feet, though so hushed and careful. Its eyes didn't so much open as ignite, toxic green pinpricks in the utter blackness of the den. Its great form twisted about itself, wove through a knot, and worked its way up through the tunnels of its home towards the surface.

The first thing Claire would hear was a small rumble, feel it through the soles of her boots. Her body tensed, and her head jerked to catch the second sound, the dull yet increasingly louder scraping coming from somewhere she couldn't see. Somewhere in the mist. The scraping eventually surfaced, as did the wyrm from its hole, but she still couldn't see. She could only hear it.

 _Clack-clack...clack-clack_.

The exposed bones of its top and bottom jaws clicked together, its sickly black tongue slithering with slime over its tightened, peeled back lips. If she could see it, she would see the veins still attached to the bone, still feeding the marrow life, and how the intact flesh of its face reddened with it as glowing green slime started oozing from the jowls.

Claire could hear its belly dragging as the wyrm circled around her. Tracked it more by sound than sight. She turned by half steps, keeping her shield side to it. Then there was a deep hiss followed by a foul gurgling noise. That's when she caught her first glimpse, with the hissing exhale. And the first thing she saw was the bleak black pits of it sockets and its caustic green eyes.

 _Etro protect me. If I'm meant to die here, I pray my end is quick._

Gray plates of armor for skin, bony spines along the back of its head as a morbid crown, a filthy fold of long hair at its chin a dilapidated mane. Its teeth, blackened at the base, dazzled like gems with a strange glow, a light caught within sapphire glass. The ooze didn't wear them away, though it touched the ground with a scorching kiss. It had to have been fifty feet long, Claire couldn't find its other end as it still hid in the hole it crawled out of. Never before had she seen something so big.

 _Clack-clack...clack-clack...clack-clack-clack_. It knocked its jaws together, all the while eying the hume, tracking it. Well, perhaps not so much the human as the tool she wielded. The shield, in its vision it shimmered unlike the iron it was made from, but like polished gold and bronze. A bright light that it _despised_.

This terrible sound came out of it, a shrieking unlike anything living or undead had ever made. A sound that killed livestock and sleeping infants miles away. And it lunged at the human, jaws apart. It had to extinguish that horrible, blessed _light_!

Claire was not surprised by the wyrm's initial attack, she dropped to the ground rolling as the creature lurched forward. Settling on her feet she made her own attack, cutting downward with the saber only to have it recoil off of the serpent's hide. No time to wonder why as it was coming back. The mist was scattered as the two moved about, trading attempts at harm and death over the course of tense moments. The wyrm was slow, but powerful- frighteningly so. Claire was so quick, but had yet to discover how to draw the creature's blood. At this rate, it would outlast her, run her ragged until it could strike her dead. No, there had to be a way. Every mark had a weak spot. Covered in mud, sweating, panting, Claire pressed on.

The wyrm stilled, but only a moment. It glowing eyes dimmed as its body expanded with a breath. With a noxious wet sound it belched out the air it had taken, launching a ball of fire the size of a small pony and the same color as the strange glow in its fangs. Claire was able to step out of its path, watch it splash to the ground with the consistency of tar. It burned the soil right out, burned it black and created a crater as it dissipated. As fascinated and mortified as she was to see that, she didn't have the time to appreciate it. Perhaps the creature had reached the point where it was tired of trying to chase down the spry hume. Burning it to a crisp was much more efficient, and a lot less taxing.

Claire must have felt the wyrm's thoughts, as the hairs on her neck bristled again, and she felt in real danger. And until she found a way to hurt this thing, that couldn't have been more true.

The air changed in the next few, harrowing moments. It grew heavier still, and the hovering stink of the place became all the more prevalent, but the air became hot with the spewing attacks of the wyrm. Hot enough to make the hume sweat as she dodged and sprinted out of harm's way. The air rippled with the heat. But the hume was unfazed.

All of this fire the wyrm was spitting gave Claire the edge she was looking for. The creature's body expanded with each breath, pulling the plates of its skin apart to reveal reddish muscle tissue in between. She would have to get perilously close to this thing to hurt it. A risk she needed to take. This hunt was all or nothing from the start, no changing that. Biting her bottom lip, resolve tightening her brow, she emerged from her hiding place behind a large gray stone, and ran towards the wyrm.

Claire would think herself lucky. Like Etro was guiding her hand directly as she moved steadily closer to the monster and made her first attempt at the tender flesh between its plates. Blessed, the only begotten hunter as the silver edge dove through muscle fibers and drew blood. The wyrm seemed to shriek in both shame and praise of her great skill. She was the best there ever was, ever would be, as she had injured the mighty and terrible Hessian Wyrm.

But that feeling was short lived. Like a breath.

The wyrm moved in a fashion she had never seen a creature move before, not once. It pulled its entire latter half back, removing itself from around the blade while its head did not move an inch. And at the same time it took a deep breath and exhaled. Almost too fast for Claire to react. The hume crouched down behind her shield, faith strong in that it would spare her the serpent's wrath.

But everything went so wrong. So wrong.

It happened so fast. Mere seconds.

Claire felt the pressure of a steady stream of fire against the shield, felt the fire pushing, the heat pressuring her from all around. But then something happened, something she couldn't believe even as she watched the metal begin to glow with heat. Her eyes widened, shimmering in the glow as the iron bubbled against her hand and arm and shoulder. It burned through her clothes in an instant and latched onto her flesh. But that wasn't the worst.

The flames tore through the sanctified metal, through the heavy leather of her armor and clothing, and sank like fangs into her, even her face. Locks of hair went up as cinders.

All she could do was react, push through the pain that threatened to consume all of her senses. She dropped the silver saber and reach to her side, revealing a revolver as she pushed with all her strength to fall on her back. She raised the weapon and unloaded all six shots into the creature's face. It writhed and shrieked in its particular fashion, momentarily blinded. Long enough for Claire to duck behind her previous hiding place.

By the gods, the pain. The flames had died, but it still burned. She could hear the hissing as the green slime rolled over her arm, down her right cheek, even over the bend of her right hip and ankle. Stuck like tar and searing with its touch. Stuck like the twisted shard of metal now adhering to her skin with heat. It took everything she had not to scream at the pain. Pain that persisted, never lessening even as she felt sensation in the wounded limbs fading. Leaning back against the large gray stone she kept her bottom lip firm between her teeth. Thinking staying silent would buy her precious time. Maybe, just maybe, the foul beast didn't see her crawl back here.

Claire could hear it moving though, closer inch by inch as it searched for her, sniffing with the skeletal remnants of its snout. She shivered, hurting and anxious as she waited, wondering if the creature would pass over her or destroy her in the next instant. A small, childish part of her wanted to scream in terror. She didn't want to die, not here, not all alone. But it was a small part of her indeed, the greater part of her too determined to survive. The part of her that reached for the knife in her other boot, carefully pulling it from the sheath and gripping it like her life depended on it.

And it certainly did.

The wyrm started knocking its jaw again. _Clack-clack-clack...CLACK-CLACK-CLACK_.

It was right behind the damn boulder, lurking, sniffing. She spotted a droplet of slime hitting the ground near her leg. Gods, it was above her.

 _Don't do it...don't look up. You know you're aim is good. Just...move._

It was her only chance.

Claire's entire body moved, reaching as high as heaven, the blade jutting upward. It passed right through the bottom jaw, the flesh nonexistent there, but it sank into the underside of the skull. Though not deep enough to instantly kill the creature, it caused it a great deal of pain. It started twisting on itself, screaming and spitting fire in a careless way. Its brain was bleeding.

She came out of hiding for the last time, taking her injured arm, the jutting chunk of iron on it, and approached the beast. Hobbling was all she could manage, a quick, staggering limp. Half of her right boot was gone. She glared at the monster with her one eye, the other now swollen shut tight. But she could see it clear enough, she just needed to find its throat. And she did it with a strange ease, a strange swagger as she knelt down, pressing her knee to the creature's neck. The lights of its eyes were flickering, stutters of life as its brain continued leaking through the new slit.

No pomp, no circumstance, just viscera as she plunged the remnants of the shield between the plates in its neck. Blood and more of the horrid ooze spilled out of the wound, bubbling and hissing as the wyrm squirmed some more. It couldn't belt out its usual shriek now as she sawed through its neck, using her good arm to help her wounded limb perform the feat. A dozen push-and-pulls, a severed spine, and the head came loose from the body. But it would take time for the wyrm to expire. The body curled and lurched, finally dropping still after maybe a minute. The head pretended to breathe, jaw and cheeks flexing, the lights in the sockets flickering until they darkened for the last time.

The Hessian Wyrm was vanquished.

She was still for a time, even after the creature died, she just needed to stop moving if only for a moment. Her chest heaved, a slight whimper to her exhales, the pain seeping through the adrenaline, forcing her to feel it. But it was just a moment. The hunt wasn't over until her log book was signed. And she would get that signature if she had to crawl all the way to the nearest witness.

She pulled the belt from her leather breeches and laced it through the open bottom jaw of the wyrm, looping it across her chest and good shoulder. She would need physical evidence of the kill. With the head dangling against her backside she worked her way slowly through the marsh, back the way she came. A walk had never seemed so long, her horse so far away.

By the time she reached her horse, she strapped the head into the saddle, knowing she wouldn't be able to mount the mare. Her leg was locked in a straight position, no moving it in any way. So she relented to walk further on, unloading everything she didn't need save her revolver, which she carefully reloaded with one hand.

It was several miles to the nearest living soul. Claire had every intention of getting there on her own power. Every intention, but not nearly enough ability.

The pain and loss of blood would eventually swamp her, pull her under and drag her down to collapse in the road. And the horse unknowingly dragged her along as she had looped the reins to her injured wrist, unable to hold them otherwise. She needed her good hand to hold her gun.

 **Part Two**

Landis was a little town, though the abbey at its heart was one of the largest on this side of the Treno River. Tucked away in an oak forest, it seemed picturesque, quiet. Quite lovely, and the people who lived there were happy, normal people. So you can imagine how it came to them as a shock that something was wrong that day. The day their abbey echoed with screams.

Claire couldn't remember...anything. Getting here, where _here_ was...she couldn't see...all she could make out were the replications of her own screams. The only thing that was certain, tangible, was the incredible pain wracking her entire body. Somewhere in that horrible noise was the pounding of her own heart, the heaving of her breaths, and the dull chanting of prayers by the nuns and priests that hovered over her. She had somehow awoken from one nightmare into another.

Her entire body snapped, jerking upward as one of the deacons dared to touch her livid flesh, her molars creaking like the rattle of thunder in her head as she clenched her jaw against another hard cry of agony. In her state of mind she never could realize that the mangled remnants of the shield was still well affixed to her arm, the flesh and metal almost commingled as one. They had to remove it if they were to administer any real help. No one had the physical strength to keep her still, not even ten of their largest friars could manage it.

How could she still have so much strength left? A woman no less, so young and so injured, how was it possible? Even her making it here alive was a mystery. A young man had brought the woman in, saying he found her being dragged along the Hessian road in such a state. He had thought her dead then, until she somehow managed to point a pistol to his crotch. That was more than enough encouragement for him to bring her straight here. And he remained to watch her belongings, search through them for any evidence as to who she was.

But little good it was doing her so far. The abbots and their healers had never seen wounds like these, the burns so strange. No fire, but the flesh continued to degrade as if burning. Blood was everywhere. The priests were convinced she wouldn't last the night.

Although this was often a hunter's fate.

But not Claire's. No, she would survive. She wasn't about to let that wriggling rot kill her. Not like this, not in a bed. Not on her back and wailing like a child. In the back of her mind, the subconscious deep, she refused to die. Yet that made for no account as to whether or not she wanted to. She had never been in so much pain before. Already it threatened to drive her mad. The only comfort she could find was in the numerous but fleeting moments of unconsciousness; when her mind simply could take no more and switched off, like blowing out a candle. But it was such a short reprieve. So short.

Claire wouldn't remember the young man who found her rushing into the room with his wide shoulders and mussed blond hair, shouting to the deacon and his priests that he knew who she was, knew where her kin could be found. He wasn't able to finish his sentence when the clergyman encouraged him to go, with all haste and gods' speed. Everything was coming and going in flickers like dying stars. Everything but the pain.

 _(-)_

Matthew and Quistis were in the tavern of Landis' neighbor, Azado, an up and coming railroad depot. They had been staying there for a couple days now, regaling their fellow patrons with stories of their hunts together, but quietly anxious as they had not hear from their niece in so long. There should have been something, some word, some sign. _Anything_ by now.

As on edge as they were, they were unaffected by the initial commotion of a fair haired, young but stout man bursting in, demanding everyone's attention. Perhaps part of them thought it was just some other poor fellow from the next town over having seen some bugaboo in the woods or some sort. That feeling was comfortable when he shouted out for them by name. The two hunters leaned back in their chairs, put down their beers and tipped their chins in unison, a motion both had used a million times before in a million similar situations.

"Who are you, lad?" Matthew grumbled the question like a grouchy bear.

"Snow Villiers, sir, I'm a scholar studying at Landis Abbey."

"What's the problem?" Quistis asked, beating her husband to it.

"N-no problem, ma'am, at least," he stuttered a little, catching his breath. "It's Claire..."

Matthew's expression thinned. "How do you know my niece?"

"She's at the abbey, sir, the archdeacon sent me to find you. They...they're doing the best they can-,"

Again he wouldn't be able to finish his statement as the hunters jumped from their seats and bolted for the door. They wouldn't wait for him, knowing the road to Landis well enough. Snow would mount his mule in the dust they left behind, doing his best to catch up as he coughed and sneezed his way out of town.

It was midday when they started towards Landis, it was after dark when they arrived. They could hear the screaming, though it was hoarse now, even as they stood before the locked doors of the abbey. Quistis saw her husband's expression morph in the torchlight, from determined and firm to lost, almost pitiful. He was scared, an emotion she had rarely witnessed him wearing. But Claire was everything to him, in his mind she was his daughter. How was he supposed to feel, she had to wonder. The man nearly lost himself the first time she fell and scraped her knee.

What would it do to him now, to see this? His precious nightingale brought so low.

Matthew tore his way through the door when he heard the locks pulling back, barking desperate demands to see Claire. A gaggle of nuns took him straight away to the sick ward, which was mostly empty, only two beds occupied. The other was an older friar with the cold.

"Sweet gods on high," the breath in his body bled out of him like the color in his face when his eyes fell on Claire in the bed. Her pitiful cry nearly tore his feet out from under him. Tears were in his eyes as he knelt by the bed and took her hand. "I'm here, dear heart."

Claire was struggling to breathe, much less speak to her uncle. Still she tried, her words broken as her jaw worked with only half its usual purpose. One eye was open and searching for him though her vision was still so poor. She felt the weight of his hand in hers and she squeezed it with every ounce of pain and strength she had.

Matthew looked up at his wife as she stood across from him, her arms crossed and eyes set severe.

"I've never seen anything like this," Quistis shook her head slowly, adjusting her glasses. "I don't believe anyone has. Still...I need a closer look at this." and she shifted off to fetch whoever she saw fit to conscript.

"Don't worry," Matthew assured Claire, his voice soft but trembling. It was hard for the man to decide if he was trying to comfort her or himself. He pet her hair with his large palm, hoping it wouldn't cause her more pain. Though he smudged the tracks of commingled dirt, sweat, and blood across her temple."We're here for you."

"M-Matt," a miserable squeak.

"Shhh," he was unfazed that she didn't use the usual honorific of uncle. "Rest easy. Once your aunt gets back, we'll get this sorted out. Be strong for us, nightingale, just a little longer. _Please_."

She wanted to answer, tried. Claire wanted to tell him, show him she could be strong, could stand fast. But she was so tired, still so _hurt_. All she could do was squeeze his hand a little tighter, hoping he understood.

Quistis returned with half a dozen souls, one of which was the abbot himself in his nightclothes. To think anyone could sleep with all the noise recently. He was trying to complain to the hunter about something, though it was clear by her resolute strides and firm face that she was far from listening.

"These bandages need to be removed." was the first thing she said, resisting the urge to gripe about the poor state of them. Soaked with blood and serving no real purpose. "Abbot, would you happen to have a cleric handy?'

"No, I-,"

"Then find one."

"I'll not have those pagans and their witchcraft in my abbey!" his long, pointed nose blushed red as his tone firmed.

Quistis snapped around and looked at him, her eyes thin as a razor. "Then it's a fortunate circumstance that this is not _your_ abbey, as the property is signed to the Landis council. Now," she took a breath, "a cleric, if you please."

"Who do you think you are? A _woman_ coming in here at all hours tossing about demands as if-,"

"Abbot Eblan," she took one step towards him, the space between now fractions of an inch. "If you'll have a closer look at this _woman_ you'll see the silver pin on my collar. I can assure, once you realize exactly what it is, you will _know exactly who I am_."

She watched his features, the disgust and indignation morphing into mild terror as he spied the silver owl trinket she mentioned. Then she lowered her tone to a whisper.

"That is my _daughter_ , and you will either help her or get out of my way. Are we clear?"

"Y-yes, my lady, forgive me. I didn't know." and now he couldn't meet her gaze. "I'm afraid I don't know any clerics, none nearby anyhow."

Quistis only grumbled with a sigh to cover it up as she turned away from him.

"Ma'am?"

She turned back to see the stocky fellow that directed them here to begin with. Her brow quirked curiously. "Villiers was it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I know some people, I could find a cleric for you."

"Good lad, off with you then. And you have my thanks."

Now back to the matter at hand. Quistis turned to the bed once again, and now had an unobstructed look at the severity of Claire's injuries. A quiet gasp surged through her.

"The bleeding hasn't stopped?"

"Not in nearly two days, ma'am." one of the nuns answered.

"Peculiar. And what of this?" Quistis pointed to the shard of twisted iron. "Why hasn't it been removed?"

"No one's strong enough. And," she paused, "we can't keep her still."

"Are you telling me you tried to _pull_ it off?"

The nun shrank, all of the color in her face draining. "It's practically at-tached. H-how were we to-,"

"Have you never heard of a surgeon's knife? By the _gods_ ," she glared at the abbot one last time, savoring his little flinch before getting back on task. She exchanged an anxious but knowing glance with her husband and then shrugged. "Heavens." With a shake of her head she went about sending the nuns for the things she needed.

Though it was all so mussed, everything around her so jumbled, Claire found her aunt's voice. Focused on it, latched on to her request for a knife, and stirred. Only a little at first, like a jerk in her sleep, but then it worsened.

"No-no-no," her head tossed back and forth against the blood stained pillow. Matthew inched away, just a little, unsure what exactly was happening. "D-don't take my arm," she attempted, albeit poorly, to sit up. Her good hand gripped into her uncle's shirt, claw-like and desperate. "Don't take my arm, it's still good, _don't take my arm_!" She all but threw herself into his arms as she started screaming it over and over, begging.

"Claire, please," Matthew pleaded, "be _still_!"

"Don't let them do it, Uncle Matt!" she sobbed, hanging onto him like her life depended on it. "T-tell them they can't!"

All he could do was hold her close, keep her from possibly hurting herself. "Claire, listen to me. Please, darling, focus on my voice. _Try_." She did as he asked, just able to comprehend, but was still shaking so hard. Be it from injury or fear didn't matter, it still broke the man's heart. "It's all right, nightingale. Nothing like that is going to happen to you. But we can't just leave-,"

"It hurts," she whimpered, quiet. "Make it stop."

Matthew swallowed; what he would give to grant her request. The whole world would be forfeit.

"You'll just have to let us do the work that needs doing, dear heart. It'll hurt for just a moment longer."

"No," a restrained sob twisted out of her. "No more,"

"Only a moment, I promise." He looked up from his niece to his wife. "Is there anything we can give her? Liquor even?"

"Just the sacramental wine," the abbot uttered with a sort of sheepishness. "But it would take a great deal to accomplish your use for it. It isn't very potent."

"Have you nothing else?"

And the abbot shook his head, though he didn't seem all that broken up about it.

"We don't have much of a choice, Matthew. The longer we wait, the worse it will get." Quistis reminded him, always the more pragmatic of the two.

"I know." and after a silent moment, contemplating, his broad chested expended and diminished with a shrug. "Try to be quick."

"As quick as I safely can, husband. Here," she pulled the leather belt from her breeches and passed it to him. "Best give it to her to bite on. And try to keep her still."

"Just stay focused on my voice, Claire. I'll be right here."

Quistis seemed to have it all figured out. She had the nuns kneel on the bed, tightening the sheets around Claire so she had less room to move without them having to touch her. And while they weren't strong, surely their combined weight would suffice. She had the abbot take a second sheet from one of the other beds to tie around an uninjured portion of her niece's arm, securing it to the bed frame to keep it as still as possible. With a few extra candles resting on a tray with a knife and some clean water, she began working.

Everything went according to her plan up until this point. The most difficult part of the procedure was trying to focus through Claire's heart wrenching cries of pain as she carefully, but never swiftly enough, worked the outer bend of her hand away from the mangled iron. Blood went everywhere.

Not in a hundred years could she have imagined what she found once they were separated, the iron slag striking the floor.

A flash of cerulean light and the overpowering stench of sulfur filled the room as a fireball erupted from where flesh and metal had been one. Claire's body bowed, her scream of agony muffled by the leather between her teeth. For a moment, Quistis could only watch, horrified as the fire burned.

Then she acted, snatching the basin of water and tossing it on the flames as anyone else would have. But they were not extinguished.

 _Gods...what is it...what have I done?_

The only other thought she could possibly employ was an attempt to smother the fire into submission. Imagine her surprise when it seemed to work. Claire stilled, now sobbing in her uncle's arms instead of thrashing madly. She could hear him trying to soothe her, whispering it was over now, but it hardly registered. Her mind was racing. How could it be that water could not quench the flames, yet they were snuffed out so? She had never seen anything like it in her long career, neither had anyone within the long line of the sisterhood that taught her to hunt. No one.

Still, there was a solution, and she was sure to find it.

"We have to stop this bleeding or we'll lose her."

"I know, Matthew, I know. Let me think a moment." She felt like the solution to this terrible puzzle was staring her right in the face. And she hated that feeling, always had.

 _There's a reason that damnable stuff went off like that...if I had time, I would discuss this with the cleric..._

But there was no such luxury. She needed the answer _now_.

Matthew anxiously watched his wife's features, the seconds feeling like hours. He could sense Claire's weakness, had this horrible sinking sensation in his heart that her time was fleeting. Were he a praying man he would have his face to the floor, begging.

"Well,"

Matthew found himself able to breathe when he saw Quistis' stern countenance change.

"It's rather odd...but we've got nothing better."

"What is it?"

"Just a hunch...it's worth a try. Abbot," she turned to the older man, almost amused when he still couldn't meet her eyes. "You wouldn't happen to have any honey in your larder this time of year, would you?"

"W-what? We-ah...um..." he fumbled for a moment, then, "y-yes, I believe so."

"Could I use it?"

"...All of it?"

No, not all of it, but a good portion of the one gallon vessel they had down in the kitchen. It was crazy, she thought, and knew the abbot was thinking the same. But she couldn't ignore the chance to save Claire on account of its being unusual. The theory was sound, but that made no account for the application.

It was common knowledge that fire needed air to burn. Also that honey could make due as a salve for open wounds to stave off infection and other things. Quistis was banking on her assumption that air was the key element in the reaction she witnessed, and that if honey could keep back gangrene, it could do a hell of a lot more.

With Matthew's help she was able to dress the wounds in under an hour, the task made a mote easier as Claire had slipped into unconsciousness before they even began. It also lessens the stress of moving her to a fresh bed. They lay her on her uninjured side that she might rest a little easier.

Now all they could do was wait. Matthew would take the first watch while Quistis took a moment to apologize to the abbot for her earlier, somewhat extreme behavior. Then she tried to get a little sleep.

 **Part Three**

Cleric was a more modern term for shaman, or witch doctor -as it was still said in some parts- and though their healing abilities were world renowned, they weren't much liked by the church. Their methods were valid, supported even by kings, but the clergy would never approve of their use of pagan totems and chants to invoke otherworldly spirits to their aid. It was against the texts.

So it was no surprise that Abbot Eblan squirmed rather noticeably when the young Snow Villiers returned to the abbey with the nearest cleric he could find. A dwarf with an extraordinarily large nose, glasses with lenses as wide as his face, and rust colored hair covering all other facial features. He seemed in good spirits, greeting the abbot and offering him a handshake that wasn't reciprocated. In the end he wished the abbot good day and continued on in Snow's shadow, to the sick ward where he was happily greeted by the weary Tannis'.

"This is Doctor Tot," Snow introduced him.

"Yes, we've met." Quistis smiled, adjusting her glasses. "Good to see you, doctor."

The cleric rose to the tips of his toes to take her hand, his beard shifting into a sort of smile. "A pleasure as always, Lady Trepe. Though, I suppose that name no longer suits you," he chuckled.

"Oh no, it does, I make sure he remembers," and she winked subtly at Matthew, who was only just so awake still. "But, doctor, if you would," and she directed him to the bed where Claire lay, still fast asleep. Thank goodness.

"Ah yes," Tot nodded. "Mr. Villiers was very kind to tell me what was happening. As worried as I am, I'll admit I'm also very intrigued."

He studied the wounded hunter closely, as closely as his mighty proboscis would allow. The others could hear him muttering to himself, but couldn't make a word of it. When the cleric seemed to finish his initial examination, he reached out his hand over her and went completely quiet. Everyone waited, everyone except Snow, who finally excepted his fate and crawled into one of the empty beds. Though no one noticed.

"My, my," Tot breathed. "Astounding."

"Doctor?"

"The creature was described as a wyrm of some kind?" he looked to Quistis, the lenses of his spectacles flickering in the light of day through stained glass.

"Yes."

"This was certainly no common serpent."

"How so?" Matthew's face creased with new worries, likely giving him new wrinkles too.

"The fire still burns."

"B-but-," some of the color left Quistis' face. " _How_?"

"Don't be mistaken," the dwarf continued, "you've done fine work so far, but...somehow...it's in her blood. Uncommon to its usual behavior, the flames are burying deeper instead of rising up with the smoke. It's unlike anything I've ever encountered."

"You too?" Matt had a little sarcasm in his tone as he rubbed his face roughly with his palms. "What can we do?"

"Well," Tot didn't sound too enthusiastic about the answer he was going to give. Rightly so. "No simple spell or ritual will do away with this, it must be done carefully. It will take time, but its possible. And I'll have to make some preparations."

"Of course, whatever you need, whatever you might have us do, doctor." Quistis assured him.

"Afraid there won't be very much you could do to move this along, however," he adjusted his glasses and straightened his beard. "Mr. Villiers mentioned there were remains of the creature. Might I see them?"

Matthew stayed behind while Abbot Eblan and Quistis took Dr. Tot to the abbey vault, where the disembodied head was locked away. It -that is to say, what was left of it- was nestled on a stone slab, swimming in its own leakage. Most of the flesh that had been on the face and neck was scorched, almost ash like, and had peeled away from the bone. The air was causing it to deteriorate at a most hurried pace. The entire vault smelled like sulfur, causing the abbot to worry about the safety of the chamber's other keepsakes.

Tot was immediately consumed by it, his bushy eyebrows lifting that his eyes might gently bulge with fascination. Quistis had to lift him as he neared the pedestal so he could get a close enough look. The slab was large enough, and the doctor brave enough, to chance stepping onto the slab and get as close as he felt was safe.

"Gods above, this is amazing. I can only imagine what it must have looked like while alive. Is there any chance I could-," he looked back and made note of Quistis' face before he finished what would have been -he realized- a rather bold request and stopped himself.

"So what is it you're looking for, doctor?"

He was back at the remains, fighting the urge to touch it for fear of losing something. "You know, my dear lady, I'm not entirely sure. Though I'll know when I see it..."

The hunter and the abbot watched the cleric work and study the ghastly remains, taking glass phials and containers from his coat to put harvested bits and pieces he carefully collected.

"Could I take this home with me? Temporarily of course, but I have all my tools there, you see..."

"Just get that thing out of my...the abbey." the abbot pleaded begrudgingly.

"Whatever you need, Dr. Tot. I'll see you home."

"That's not entirely necessary. Mayhaps you should stay here for your niece."

"Matthew can stay. He's better with these things than I am anyhow. Now lets bag this beast and be on our way."

An iron lock box was collected to store the wyrm's head, everyone hoping whatever corrosive mess was still left in it wouldn't eat a hole through it as it did almost everything else. It was loaded onto the back of Tot's stubborn little draft pony while the cleric would ride behind Quistis. The delay was momentary, long enough for Quistis to pass on her intent to her husband and collect a parting kiss.

Matthew watched her leave with a heavy heart, part of him unsure of his situation. He could, reservedly, consider himself a strong man. He had seen and done some awful things in his life and come out only so tarnished by it. And he would kill for his niece, Claire was the center of his universe. But he wasn't confident in his strength now. He had never seen her so fragile before; looking at her sleeping in the sick ward was like looking at an infant. Helpless. The both of them. It sucked the life right out of him.

And now, with his wife absent, there was no one to catch him if he happened to stumble. So the best he thought to do was just sit, wait, and pray that whatever catastrophic occurrence that was slated to happen next would at least have the consideration to hold back until he wasn't feeling so powerless.

The nuns and priests would come and go as he sat beside Claire's bed, sometimes dozing in and out of a light sleep. The abbey was so quiet now it was hard to stay completely awake. Though he was at full, sober attention whenever Claire stirred, however briefly. A shuddering exhale every so often was the extent of her movement. Matt had a feeling it was a symptom of short stints of consciousness that she simply didn't have the strength to handle for more than a few seconds. That wasn't so far from the truth.

Claire was still strong, still fighting. But the struggle with the wyrm's fire was decidedly stacked against her. Poor girl had a long way to go yet.

 _(-)_

Doctor Tot's cabin was well off the beaten path, as was common for most clerics. And it wasn't so much a cabin as it was a hole in the ground. Though don't be mistaken, it was a comfortable hole by any standards. Heavy wood and iron door, windows, chimney, it was a proper home. Just meant to stay out of sight unless you knew what you were looking for.

Quistis had to duck through the opening, carefully navigating the heavy lock box through the door as well. She knocked her elbow but took the minor pain with grace, following Tot through the den and through his kitchen to the laboratory. There was a table in the middle of the somewhat cramped, round shaped room; the hunter was careful not to bump any of the dozens of bubbling beakers mounted meticulously on other shelves as she worked to put the lock box on it. The good doctor opened up all of the shutters, letting the light of afternoon in through the panes, then he went about gathering all the tools he thought he would need. He even went so far as to affix his glasses with a secondary set of lenses, allowing him to further magnify anything he might study.

"Now," he rubbed his now gloved hands together, anxious, "let's begin." And he pulled up a step stool to stand on.

With only enough care to ensure the damn thing didn't go rolling across the floor, Quistis turned the lock box on its side so the head might slop onto the table. In the few hours it took them to reach the doctor's abode, the remains had further putrefied. Most of the muscle tissue beneath the skin had become a viscous black mess, which spilled across the table and splashed to the floor. Now the skin was stretched like spiderwebs over the bones, fragile to the touch.

"Gods on high, what a stink!" Quistis pulled away, repulsed and covering her face. Equally appalling was how Tot seemed unaffected. With a nose like his you would think the stench would kill him. His eyes hardly began to water.

"Yes, that is a foulness, isn't it?" he seemed to laugh. He looked up at Quistis, his bushy brows raised. "You know, if you would prefer not to take part, I have a list of things you can get for me. For your niece's remedy."

The hunter nodded with some enthusiasm, her hand still over her nose and mouth. "Gladly." she coughed.

"Excellent, though you'll have to linger a little longer. There's a quill and paper in the desk, I'll tell you what I need."

Quistis would stand by one of the open windows as she wrote, keeping the stink at bay long enough for her to write the items and the needed quantities one by one. She had never been one for identifying plants and alchemic items, but a vast majority of the ingredients Tot needed were familiar to her. Anything else she could ask for in the nearby town.

"Rather short a list, isn't it?" she commented.

"I'm afraid I have too little information for now. All I know for certain is how to treat the symptoms, not yet the cause. Hopefully I can rectify that. Now do be off, some of the blossoms I need will disappear after sundown."

Tot would wait for her to leave, listening for the heavy _thock_ of the front door closing before beginning the more invasive phase of his study. He had known Lady Trepe since she was a young girl in the sisterhood, one of his pupils, and had also known that she didn't have the stomach for such gore at times. Though she was more than comfortable to decapitate or disembowel an unholy creature, watching a dissection was beyond her. Peculiar.

He started by reflecting and removing what skin and flesh was left from the bone, setting it aside in a stone bowl to look at later. It was his method to take things completely apart to evaluate piece by piece. It seemed the most thorough way.

Tot didn't much notice as the stink of sulfur became stronger and stronger as he further broke down the skull's structure, separating what soft and connective tissue remained. The bottom jaw thumped to the table as the cleric lifted the hefty leftover, startling him a little. He laughed it off for but a moment as he turned the skull over, the crown downward. The chuckle faded as quickly as it started as he spied something hidden under smears of blood and scorch marks. At least _he_ thought it was something. Whatever it was, he didn't allow it to deter him from his routine, but kept it in mind as he continued.

Once he did address it, took the time to clear away the smudges and sludge, his heart skipped. He now knew _exactly_ what he had in his laboratory, and the shock threatened to make him faint.

"My gods," he breathed, his open palm at his chest.

An alchemic seal was etched into the skull, around the opening where the spine met the base. It was complex, unique, only one of its kind as many seals were. All this made it incredibly powerful, and so too the creature it had once brought to life. And he knew who built it.

This thing was a construct, a golem, and a most foul one at that. Created for a solitary purpose; to carry out the will of its maker. That is, to destroy utterly any and all things associated with the Goddess Etro.

Until now, Tot was convinced there was only one such construct. He had seen its birth in the audience of a fellow cleric -one studying to be a cleric at the time, that is- and found himself both astounded and terrified. That construct was much smaller, almost cute even with tufts of fur and round, expressive eyes. Impressive work for a mere alchemist not even recognized for any real talent. But the fascination died when he saw what the creature could do. Its size was an illusion, as it could change it at will, in a flash, and devour an entire cow in the time it took one to take a breath.

Still, that wasn't the worst of it.

The alchemist, he remembered was named Kuja, had somehow come by a renowned relic of the goddess, The Vessel of Mercy. A pearl basin that never spilled regardless of how one held it, and was always full of water able to heal mortal afflictions, even cure petrification. Its authenticity was verified when Kuja severed his own hand and touched the bloody stump to the water, pulling back a freshly formed limb.

The small construct touched the relic and it twisted into a blackened lump of coal, the water turning to sludge right before his eyes.

After the "demonstration", a master alchemist that was present destroyed the construct with but a touch of the tip of his finger. The little creature exploded, the seal broken. Before anyone could do anything more, Kuja disappeared. The last any of them would see of him so it would appear.

Perhaps not.

So he had made more. And larger to boot. But how many? Was the man even still alive?

Though Tot realized those points were moot at the moment. More crucial matters demanded his attention. He would spend the next few hours further disassembling the remains, now aware of the need to know each and every piece intimately. A typical wyrm's fire wouldn't have done damage like what he had seen and sensed, it was easily soothed. But this was something else entirely, something almost beyond his ability.

When Quistis returned some time after dark, arms full of plants and things, she would find Tot hovering over his bubbling vials, the most grim look on his face.

"Doctor, is everything all right?"

"I haven't quite decided yet." he sighed a little. "Though I _do_ know what this is."

"Thank heavens." she sounded relieved.

"Not just yet," he cautioned, clearing his throat as he stepped down from his stool. "I was right in assuming this was no common wyrm."

"I had suspected the same. So what did you find?"

"This monster is, in fact, a necro-alchemic construct."

Her face twisted, her glasses sliding down her nose a bit. "Please explain."

He moved to the table, all of the pieces of the wyrm's skull arranged just so. "Look here, the seal."

"I see. So what does this mean?"

"Many things, one of which is that I'm going to need help. I can only do so much on my own, considering the nature of things. You see," he rubs his eyes, adjusting his glasses, "this construct was created for the sole purpose of destroying holy objects."

"What?" she didn't want to believe it. How could that be possible? "How do you know?"

"Because there's more than one and I have seen what it can do. It explains the symptoms your niece is exhibiting. The beast's fire doesn't behave in the same manner as other wyrm's; it works two different ways. It's alchemic...and _cursed_."

"That...that is why the fire still burned...it's magic."

"In a sense, yes." he nods. "As it stands, all I can treat are the physical injuries. As experienced as I am, however, there's very little even I can do about the other maladies she may be suffering."

"Could you not conjure a totem or something to lift the curse?"

"I'm not a conjuror, Lady Trepe, not nearly good enough to deal with this. The intricacy of the seal on this monster...I know high summoners that would cringe at that."

Quistis feels the air in her lungs easing out of her, her body shrinking with a quiet exhale. Before she drops the gathered ingredients she sets them down on the table next to a row of empty beakers. "So...will Claire die?"

"Have a little faith in me." he almost chuckles. "I may not have the ability, but that doesn't mean all is lost. As I mentioned before, I'm going to need help. But, until said help arrives, I'll do what I can to at least comfort her."

"How long will it take, doctor?"

"Depends on how soon the pigeon can find my colleague. Could take a few weeks. All the while I'll be working on a blood cleanser. It'll keep her body strong until the curse can be lifted. For now, though, I have an herbal mix to take back to the abbey with you. It'll help her sleep a little more soundly."

"Is that the best we can do for her?"

"For the moment." he looks at her, seeing the despair in her face. His heart clenches. "I know how you feel, believe me. I understand. But if I could do anything more, I would."

"Yes, you're right," a heavy shrug works its way out of her, her brow knitting. "Thank you, doctor. I didn't mean to sound so ungrateful."

"Not at all. Now, be on your way, I will be in touch once I know more."

 _(-)_

Matthew didn't remember falling asleep, maybe that was why he woke so suddenly. A slight jolt that had him upright in the chair he had spent the night in. He rubbed his eyes at the sunlight coming in through the windows, stretching with a yawn as he took in his surroundings. Still in the abbey much to his quiet dismay. Part of him hoped it had all been a bad dream. His heart clenched when he saw Claire still lying in the bed beside him, not having moved all through the night. Wishing to ease his fear he chanced a careful hand to her cheek, finding it warm. She still lived.

And with no visible signs of his wife's return or the young man Villiers, he was still feeling insecure. Hell of a way to start your day.

Though the discomfort was brief. Snow had stepped out to relieve himself and perhaps scrounge up something from the abbey's kitchen to eat. He returned a few short moments after Matthew woke, a tray in his hands.

"Morning, sir."

"Please, it's Matthew." he grumbled a little as he adjusted his stiffened posture. He took the tin cup of coffee that was offered to him. "Thank you, lad. And not just for this."

"Hm?"

"For what you did. I don't think Claire would've made it here otherwise."

A little redness rounded Snow's face as he sat in another chair. "No thanks needed, Mr. Tannis."

"Matthew."

"Yeah, uh, M-Matthew. Still, anyone else would've done the same."

"No, they would not." Matt looked at him squarely before taking his first sip. "So... how did you know who she was? More so where to find my wife and I?"

Snow looked a little put on the spot. "I found Claire's log book, saw your signatures' in it. And who doesn't know the Tannis Trio?"

Matthew nodded, a small hum of acknowledgment. "I see. Quick thinking."

"Thank you."

And for a spell, the two picked at their meager breakfast in silence.

"Any sign of Lady Trepe?" Snow continued, seeming to fidget at the long quiet.

"Hm? Not to my knowledge."

Snow nodded, swallowing. "Pardon the question, but she wouldn't happen to be working on another book, would she?"

Matthew gave him a strange look, a brief one at that. "Can't say she is at the moment. You're a fan, I take it?"

Snow's face reddened a little, likely embarrassed. Perhaps he thought himself a little insensitive for the inquiry. "Y-yes. Her travel diaries convinced me to take up reading in the first place."

Bushy red brows lifted with Matthew's surprise. "I'm sure she'd be pleased to hear that, though I'd ask you to wait until the worst of this passes beforehand."

"Of course. But, to be honest," he paused, his cheeks warming again, "I had hoped my first meeting her would have gone over a little more..."

"Aye," Matthew didn't need to hear the rest. He understood. "But life's funny that way. Still...sticking around...mayhaps you'll get a proper introduction yet."

Another strain of quiet after that, one that lasted much longer. Even after the food was finished, the tray and empty dishes placed neatly on the floor, there wasn't a word to pass between them. In time Snow would realize Mr. Tannis' lack of conversation came from his having once again dozed off. The young man thought it best to leave him be, and made himself scarce so that he wouldn't be disturbed. Though his vacancy would have little bearing on that.

Claire stirred, made only a pitiful, pained groan, and Matthew straightened with a start. Just as he had throughout the night

"Momma," she muttered, her mouth half-pressed into the pillow.

"Claire? Can you hear me?" he bent to his knees beside the bed, even then his large body loomed over hers.

"Momma...she's here."

"No, nightingale. She's not here." his brow knitted, mild confusion.

"I hear her voice," a pause for breath, shaking, "she needs me."

"Claire, your mother's not here. You must have heard one of the nuns speaking is all." he found her uninjured hand to hold in both of his, petting the knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

"No," she almost shook her head. In her fevered consciousness she probably thought she had. "I know her voice...she's calling me. I have to go." Her body stirred, legs flexing, shoulders bunching as if she was trying to rouse herself.

"Be still, girl, you're awful sick yet."

"She needs me."

"No, dear, lie back down." not that she had gotten far from her starting position when Matt put one hand to her side and pressed oh so carefully against her attempt. She put up little resistance and winced when her body settled again.

"If it helps, Claire, I could write your mother," he started to stroke her hand again with his fingers, "maybe she'd even come to visit you."

No answer for a moment, then a puff of air left her mouth. "You lied to me."

His brows jumped for his hairline, his hand stilling a moment.

"You promised."

Matthew swallowed. "Oh, dear heart, I'm sorry. B-but what had I promised?"

"My arm...I can't feel my arm," she whimpered. "You promised..."

"You're still whole, Claire, I swear." His expression was still a befuddled one. He was looking right at the limb in question, watched as her fingers tried to curl against the bandages and pain. "Claire, I-,"

"You lied." she insisted still.

Matthew frowned, lost for words for a moment. "Forgive me, nightingale." he sighed. "Your uncle's a terrible man. Could you forgive me?"

No answer. And though he knew that she wasn't thinking clear, wasn't altogether, it still broke his heart that she wouldn't respond.

"Just try to get back to sleep, Claire. It'll do you well."

It seemed like she heeded him, going still and quiet for a while. Matt would release a somewhat relieved sigh as he rose back into the chair he had pulled closer to the bed. He continued to hold her hand, mainly for his own security. He could feel the digits flex meek against his own from time to time, and it gave him comfort.

Until that meager grasp suddenly became vice-like, and her sleepy breaths jumped into swift, choking gasps. He jumped to his feet as her upper body twisted in an almost inhuman way, Matthew was convinced one simply wasn't meant to move like that. On her back, her right shoulder appeared to try and rip itself from the socket, Claire's mouth was stuck in a silent scream, blood oozing around her lips from reopened wounds. She could feel it up and down her right side, starting in her shoulder blade; daggers flaying the nerves, claws yanking the muscles into knots, a fire in the very marrow of her bones. There were no words to describe the agony of it.

"Someone, anyone, _help me_!" Matthew shouted, having just seen a nun run out of the ward. " _Help me_!" Though it was in vain.

She couldn't move, could barely breathe, could only ride out the pain in her uncle's arms.

This first of many seizures would last the greater part of an hour. Its conclusion left Claire boneless in her uncle's embrace, sobbing in spite of her now greater weakness.

Shortly thereafter her aunt returned, initially mortified to see her husband crying over their niece.

"No, no, she's alive." he assured her, tears rolling down his face.

"Thank goodness." she breathed.

Though Matt didn't appear to agree in full with the notion. Part of him would be better off with Claire not having to suffer any longer. "What did Dr. Tot find?"

"Dreadful things, I'm afraid." she removed her glasses as she took a seat at the foot of the bed, rubbing her eyes. "Not much he can do about it right now, though he's getting the help he needs as quickly as possible."

"Where do we stand then?"

Quistis went over her conversation with the doctor with her husband, hating to see his despairing face grow more grave as she went. Matthew was by no means a fool, but talk of alchemy and curses made him feel like the biggest one on Pulse. It made him feel helpless.

"We can't just wait." Matthew shook his head.

"We have no choice." Quistis countered gently. "Dr. Tot said the cleanser wouldn't be ready for another day or two, and there is no telling when his correspondence will return."

"Just as there's no telling how long Claire will last suffering like this."

Quistis met her husband's grim gaze with one of her own. "Don't tell me you have lost hope."

"I have not." his eyes slid to the side. "I just...her life is in someone else's hands. I cannot control that."

And she just looked at him, fully absorbed by the way he held Claire with such security. Her only defender. And she shrugged, "I know you hate it. I hate it too. But it's all we have for now."

"Couldn't we take her home at least? Where she would be more comfortable?"

Quistis would think about it a moment, weighing it fairly, deciding it was feasible. There was little here they were able- or the abbot willing- to do to help. But would Claire make the trip? Maybe, if she could get some restful sleep...

"Perhaps that is best. After the doctor can get the cleanser to us, I'll tell him to send his helpers to Winhill...yes. And I'll write Mr. Katzroy and have him meet us here."

Matthew eventually nodded, though no more pleased than before. Poor man was just so frustrated.

"Listen," she finally put her glasses back on. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll watch her a while."

"Quis, I can-,"

"I insist." and she gave him a particular look, a look which made him nod a second time.

With all the reluctance a man of his fiber could muster he put Claire back to bed, and merely turned around to lie on the empty one just behind him. As much as he knew he needed to separate himself from this, so he could sleep, he couldn't stand to be too far away.

"You should write Rachel, too," he said in passing as he rolled onto his side. "Claire was calling for her in her sleep."

"As if she'd bother." Quistis sniffed, unfazed by the idea. "No use wasting the paper or the pigeon on her."

"Just thought I'd mention it." In honesty, he would have been surprised had his wife behaved otherwise. He would write his sister later in any case, after his nap.

The next couple of days, until Tot arrived, were a trial all their own. While the pain and the mild delusions didn't worsen, her condition did. The seizures grew prevalent though remained unpredictable, and were thankfully brief for the most part. But by far the most worrisome thing was Claire's refusal to eat or drink. Not even Matthew could convince her. Once they attempted to force her, holding her nose to make her take the sleep tonic Tot had made only to have her spit it out as if the concoction burned her mouth.

Tot would confirm it as another symptom of the wyrm's curse when he returned to the abbey, seeing the dire state of the young hunter. Whatever bad magic was working on her had every intent to do Claire in as slowly and with as much misery possible. If the wounds didn't kill her, in time she would waste away to nothing.

"At this rate," Tot nervously tugged at his beard, "maybe weeks."

"And if we can get her to take the cleanser?" Quistis stood over him, as any average person had no choice but to do.

"Well, that will help, of course. But it will only delay the inevitable."

"What about your contacts, doctor?" Matt had his fingers hooked into his scalp, unable to lift his eyes from the floor.

"No word yet, though I trust I'll hear something soon."

"Then if they decide to come, tell them to meet us in Winhill. We're taking her home tomorrow."

Tot's eyes widened, his glasses sliding a solid inch down his large nose. "W-what? Is that wise?"

"We have access to more helpful hands," Quistis rubbed the back of her neck, "and she'll be more comfortable. If Claire is to pass...I'd rather she be home."

"Ah, fair enough, I suppose. Then I'll do as you ask, and be sure to keep me informed if you're able."

"Of course, doctor. Thank you for your help."

"No thanks necessary, Lady Trepe. I'll keep you all in my prayers."

Mr. Sazh Katzroy would arrive in the early afternoon with his stout mule pulling his covered wagon into the shadow of the abbey. The dark skinned man was a native of the island nation of Besaid, a shaman, and Matthew Tannis' dearest friend since they were young men. He wore a necklace of organic tokens, teeth and jaw bones of animals, which stood out in stark contrast to his more civilized attire. It rattled against his chest as he pulled the reigns to stop the mule's steps. With little delay he climbed down from the driver's seat and made his way inside, ignoring the some curious, some mortified looks of the nuns and priests. He was promptly greeted by Matthew upon entering the sick ward, the two men shaking hands and exchanging a friendly embrace.

"You look like shit, Matt." Sazh said abruptly, his hand still firm to his neighbor's. "So what's going on?"

Matthew hadn't given any details in the correspondence he sent back to Winhill, only that he needed Sazh desperately. He was quick to relate all the goings on to the shaman, wishing not to delay any longer than they had to.

Mr. Katzroy's expression lengthened at the sound of all Claire had been through. He had a soft spot for the girl since she came to live with the Tannis', had watched her grow up, and it hurt his heart to think she was only a thread away from dying.

"Any ideas?"

"Unfortunately," Sazh's gaze shifted from him for a second, "my magic is more for spirits and the like. I mean...I'd be willing to try a few things if I wasn't too worried about making matters worse."

Matthew frowned as their hands finally loosed and they began to walk together. "I understand, and I appreciate it all the same. Guess I was just holding out hope for..."

"I know. I don't blame you." Sazh nodded. "But have some faith...our girl's tough." Although he would have a mite of trouble believing his own words once he saw the state Claire was in. His stomach threatened to fall into his feet. "Sweet gods above." was his quiet declaration.

"Things like these make you forget there are any," Quistis sighed as she stood, turning to greet Mr. Katzroy just as her husband had. "Thank you for coming."

Sazh nodded. "And I'm all for leaving whenever you're ready."

Claire would wake to a charge of pain brought about by her body moving on its own, manipulated by someone else. Her good hand gripped for something, fingers hooking into the heavy material of her uncle's shirt as he hoisted her into his arms. She winced, whimpering into his chest and partially listening to his numerous apologies. Claire tried to focus on his voice, to focus through the body wide weakness that seemed to pull her ever downward as he carried her out of the abbey and into the afternoon sun. She could feel the heat of it, feel her skin so tender to its light. Yet the discomfort was brief. There was noticeable relief within the covered wagon where Matthew laid her down on a modest bed. Mr. Katzroy would often travel, and treated the wagon as his home away from home. It would do until they returned to Winhill.

"Can you hear me, nightingale? Are you still awake?"

Claire felt her mouth move, but didn't hear herself speak. "Yes."

"Mr. Katzroy's with us. He's going to take you home."

Somehow her hand found his wrist and gripped it. "Don't leave me."

"Never." Matt lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. "I'll be right here."

"Matthew," Quistis called from outside the wagon.

"Yes?"

"Young Villiers wants to join us," there was an odd tone to her voice. Perhaps curiosity.

"To help if he can, I would hope."

"Seems so."

"Then let him come."

 **Part Four**

Now home in Winhill some ten days later, there was little more to do than wait. Though spirits in the Tannis house were surprisingly good. Claire survived the trip, which they had quietly expected the opposite. Just as great a relief came when they managed to make her take the cleanser, though at that point she was so weak there wasn't any fight left in her. Even the seizures didn't hold much sway over her anymore. They would still come and go as par for this new normal, but there was little to no reaction on the young hunter's part. A small jerk of her body, a grunt of discomfort, or something so discreet as a shiver; occasionally there was no visible sign of it at all.

However this latest development wasn't nearly as welcomed as one would think. It was just another sign that Claire was fading.

Mr. Katzroy would regularly go between his home and the Tannis house throughout the day, helping any way he was able. He could see the toll all of this was taking on his neighbors. Possibly better than they could. Neither of them had a talent for talking out their feelings, doubly so for their stress or fears, so they tended to isolate themselves from one another instead. He had mentioned his observations to Matthew on a few occasions, most of which came just before the two were married some...twelve or more years ago. Clearly they hadn't taken the advice to heart. Then again, it could just be the circumstances.

This family they had cobbled together...it was their whole world. They were afraid to lose it, just like anyone else. So he kept any comments or thoughts to himself, minding the minor chores around the house with the young Villiers while Quistis and Matthew hid themselves in their own tasks. One in the study, the other in Claire's room at her bedside. All day long, at least, until after dark when they were forced to come down and eat lest they collapse. But there would be no conversation. They only had one thing to talk about, but they simply didn't want to.

Then it was back to the study, or the kitchen to start a pot of tea, or the den to pace the floors for the hundredth time, or to Claire's room to helplessly watch and wait for something to happen. And it would be the wee hours of the morning before either of them would go to sleep, if at all. This is when Sazh would usually go home if not sooner, leaving his neighbors in Snow's care. Well, as much as the young fellow could manage to while snoring face-down in the sofa.

Mr. Katzroy would leave his house early the following afternoon, a little miffed at himself for having slept so late. He stepped out his door only to pause as he looked across the short yardage down the gravel thoroughfare to his neighbor's porch, finding it occupied. He recognized Dr. Tot with a firm squint and study, though he wasn't alone. There were two others about the cleric's size, maybe a head taller, standing beside him. And Sazh would spot two others sitting on the driver's bench of a covered wagon not too unlike his own. Two young, human men, one decidedly stockier than the other, plainly dressed. The shaman didn't start walking again until the lot of them followed Snow inside, meeting the eyes of the two humans as he reached the porch steps. He could feel their eyes on the back of his head as he knocked on the door, gaining admittance without much delay.

Sazh was equally surprised to see two more dwarves before him, as well as his neighbors being wide awake in spite of the hour they went to bed. Though the notion didn't show on his face until the unfamiliar little people snapped around to look at him.

"Who's he?" came the gruff questioning of the obviously male dwarf. His face was full of bushy brunette hair.

"Oh-uh, that's my neighbor, Mr. Katzroy," Matt answered, still somewhat groggy, "he's trustworthy."

"Oh aye?" the dwarf waddled up to the shaman, thick arms crossing as his eyes thinned. After a moment he stuck out his thick, meaty hand as if in greeting. Though you wouldn't think it a friendly one by the twist of his expression. Sazh accepted the gesture, reciprocating it with all the sincerity he could muster through his mild confusion. Apparently it was enough to sway the dwarf, who only nodded and introduced himself. "Hargo of clan Stone Spirit, Mastersmith of the Healers Guild of La Rochelle."

"As simple as I wish things were, I'm afraid I'm not convinced." the other dwarf said. The other dwarf that sported a beard a quarter the thickness of Hargo's, yet was a lady with glasses. She pushed passed her counterpart and took Sazh's wrist, her mouth moving but no audible words emerging. The shaman felt something, a shiver up his back, the fingerprints of a magical grip.

"Would you reveal anything you see or hear for your own gain?" she asked him straightforward, her eyes intense behind the frames.

"Of course not." he answered truthfully, though he sensed a pinch of force behind it. Something was making him do it. The same something he felt fade after she released him.

Though by the way she looked at him, she still appeared suspicious. "Very well," it was a yielding grumble. "I'm Olivia Oakwrought , Guild second."

"The pleasure's mine."

"Come and have a seat neighbor," Matt called to him, "there's talking to do."

The lot of them settled in the den with the exception of Quistis, who was fussing over the tea pot at the moment. The conversation was delayed until everyone had a hot beverage in hand, which wasn't long at all to be honest.

Tot brushed a few drops from his mustache before speaking. "I'll admit, I was expecting the Baroness Kamekala."

"Afraid not," Hargo said. "Things in the capital aren't so calm these days. Were it any other way, she would be here."

"Oh dear," Tot fretted a little, tugging the hair on his chin. "Guildmaster Claris?"

"Tried." Hargo shook his head. "As it stands we're the best you've got."

You can imagine the look on everyone's faces. No, not good at all.

"But we wouldn't have come all this way if we didn't have a possible answer." Olivia continued. "Hence the secrecy."

"I don't understand." Matt rubbed the back of his neck with a heavy hand, shaking his head.

"You will."

The lady dwarf went to the door after a rushed consumption of her tea, stepping outside. The others waited, listening, heads lifting at the sound of more footsteps on the porch. Quistis stood up when the footfalls suddenly became much heavier. The two young men that had been minding the wagon came through the door with Olivia, and they were followed by a hulking black shape that had to duck to step into the room. Its weight made the floor creak, and several quiet gasps went through the room at the sight of it.

"My gods," Quistis breathed, stepping away from the couch and adjusting her glasses to make sure she was seeing what she was seeing. It wasn't often when the hunter's curiosity completely consumed her attention, as she had seen a lot during her career, but nothing like this. And by this, I don't mean the shape and size of her visitor, I mean what they were wearing.

The dwarves and humans watched Quistis like hawks as she came forward, stepping between the two human men and touching the long, hooded coat covering the massive shape. It felt like deer hide, nothing unfamiliar, but looked like something completely different. Jet black with pale streaks and spots. It wasn't dyed, she could tell. This coloration was natural.

"D-Dr. Tot," she didn't turn her head, but focused intently on her fingers running over the short pile fur. "Doctor, do you know what this is? _Do you know what this is_?" she was starting to laugh a little as she asked the question with a hint of knowing. "This shouldn't be real...but it is!"

The cleric would appear at the hunter's knee a moment later, looking up. "Ah, yes, looks like it. Vale deer."

"You said the Vale was just a story."

"At the time I thought it was. Suppose I unknowingly fibbed."

Quistis smiled, giggled a little, still absorbed in what she was seeing, touching. "The only way you could have this is if you've _been_ to the Vale. Gods above, you've been to the Vale, you...you're not human."

And she paused, having found a hand among the folds of the pelt. An enormous appendage she needed both of her own hands to manage, and it was covered in coarse, short fur that was colored like mud. Even the palm was fuzzy. Quistis looked up into the darkness of the hood's opening, her eyes thinned in searching. Without thinking she reached up and tugged at the hem of the hood, perhaps wanting a better look seeing as she wasn't nearly tall enough to push it back.

Perhaps amused by her curiosity, the large being revealed itself. And Quistis had been quite correct in stating it wasn't human. By all accounts it wasn't, though the first of its kind had been in part; its human lineage showed in its upright stature, its fingers, and the kind intelligence in its dark brown eyes. Its other features were clearly animal, bison to be specific. The soil colored hair was all over, and thicker, darker hair was on the creature's head and floppy ears. Its large, black nose created the bovine shape of its face, and two black horns curled upward, the tips slightly blunted.

"Oh my," Quistis gasped, her hands over her mouth as she took a step back. "Matthew...do you see this?"

"I see it." Though he was expecting himself to wake up any second now, all this having been a dream. "Never thought I'd have a minotaur in my house."

"Wilder." Hargo corrected him. "Miss Beau's got toes after all."

"Miss?" Matt's eyebrows reached for his hairline. "My mistake."

"It's okay," the Wilder spoke, smiling. "Beau gets that a lot." Then she looked down, her incredible hand settling on Olivia's shoulder. "We need to get started."

"Can you trust them?" Even now she was wary of their accountability.

But the wilder nodded. "They know how to keep secrets."

Matthew felt Beau's eyes settle on him suddenly, like she was looking right through him. His expression was so severe. _How could you know?_

"Don't worry, Beau won't tell." she assured him, still smiling in an almost innocent way. Then she encouraged Olivia once more to show her the way, which she did after a departing whisper to Hargo.

"Might I come? ...Just to observe, I won't be in the way."

The dwarf paused half way up the stairs, the wilder continuing on. "With all due respect ma'am, I must refuse. I understand this is indeed your home, but it's for safety's sake."

"Oh...oh, of course, how silly of me. Please, carry on." and she scurried back into the den and deposited herself on the sofa where she had previously been.

"You're the more curious of the two, aren't you, Mrs. Tannis?" Hargo asked with amusement, fishing through his satchel for something.

"You noticed?" a chuckle emerged.

"Aye, that I did." he revealed a trio of scrolls, one of which he took for himself and the other two he passed off to his human cohorts.

"What are you doing?" Matt seemed to notice what his wife had not.

"Guild procedure, we're magically sealing your house. I don't know the kind of curses you've got here, but if they're anything like back home, we need to keep it inside until we know how to get rid of it."

"Fair enough. But another question, if you don't mind."

"Make it quick if you please." Hargo was moving to the front door, unfurling the scroll.

"How did she know?"

"Know what?"

"Well," he paused a moment, perhaps unprepared for the question to his question. "I'll admit I've got a fair amount of secrets, like any man, but the wilder seemed to know the biggest one."

"Aye, Miss Beau has a keen sense to her." Hargo nodded as he used the pad of his thumb to start drawing down the center of the door. Runes began to appear in the wood, glowing a bright orange. "She was the one to convince the baroness to allow us to come. She read the doctor's letter and had a peculiar feeling about it."

"Can she help Claire? Can she break the curse?" Quistis asked.

"I couldn't tell you with any honesty at the moment, but we'll soon see. Now, if you'll excuse me." And the dwarf went about the house, to all the windows and any other doors his compatriots had found and marking them just as he had the front door. Then he made his way to the second floor, making sure the same was done up there, and checking on Olivia one last time. With the house warded, the ritual would begin any moment now.

Once again, all there was to do was wait.

Beau and Olivia moved quietly about Claire's room, which was surprising considering the wilder's size. The lady dwarf warded the windows and the door, and made a similar circle around herself in one corner. From here she could see the entirety of the room, and would have sufficient view of the ritual. With pen and parchment she would record all the happenings to return to the baroness.

"Ready when you are, Beau."

"Okay." Was the gentle giant's simple response.

Beau had been sniffing about since entering the house, gathering information in a way only her kind could. For the most part nothing was out of the ordinary. There were traces of tea, coal and ash, and farm animals everywhere. Not until she had ascended the stairs did the scents suddenly change, and the hairs on her body start bristling. Like a dull static she was drawn to Claire's room where it spiked, along with the acrid reek of brimstone.

With the room sealed and Olivia safe behind her own wards, Beau went about her own preparation. Removing the deerskin coat she spread it on the floor. Minding the hook of her horns she maneuvered a large pouch off of her shoulders and set it on the floor. Kneeling she removed most of its contents one by one, arranging them just so on the pelt. A bundle of white sage, a stone bowl to burn it in, a necklace of large turquoise discs, a powder horn filled with salt, and something called a Four Spirit bag.

Beau put the turquoise around her neck and lit the sage with a piece of flint from the spirit bag. As the potent yet cleansing smell filled the room, the wilder stood with the bowl in both hands, placing it on the small table beside Claire's bed. For a moment she studied the withered human lying there, and felt her heart clench. She bent down, sniffing, one large palm hovering over Claire's chest. She could sense the curse, what her people called Bad Medicine, working through the human. Her life force was so dim.

"Is it familiar, Beau?"

The wilder's ears twitched back and forth. "Nope. But Beau still try."

It wasn't until the smoke from the sage filled the room, a fine mist having formed, that Beau would begin the ritual. She poured a circle of salt and then sat in the middle of it, opening the Spirit Bag to spread out the remainder of its contents on the floor before her. An array of tokens harvested from nature spilled over the pelt; an antler tip, a fish bone, a bird's feather, a bear's claw, a turtle shell, and a selection of semiprecious stones that ranged in a multitude of colors. All these things she moved about, humming a wordless song as she did so, until they rested in a circle that had been quartered. The stones and the turquoise around her neck seemed to glow as she continued humming, a gentle, warm light that resonated upward into the smoke, changing its color. Lastly, a cedar flute was pulled from the spirit bag. Beau began to play, continuing the tune she had been humming. The light in the stones intensified, filling the room.

The ritual would take several hours, until sundown when the energy in the air suddenly spiked. It could be felt through the entire house, the glass panes in the windows rattled and the runes around them flickered wildly. Olivia's protection circle started reacting, threatening her focus as she wrote down what was happening. In her long career with the guild and its troubles, the dwarf was no stranger to the supernatural, but all this was still managing to make the hair on her neck stand up with both fascination and an anxious need for this to end. A ritual had never lasted so long before.

Beau seemed unfazed by the goings on around her, the heightened static in the air, how the fur on her hands popped with it as her fingers moved. She hadn't moved any other part of her body, or even opened her eyes since the ritual began. Not even her tail twitched. The wilder was flawlessly focused on her task. As she played, she could feel the energy of the curse moving as if it was alive. It stretched and writhed, slithering around the room. It couldn't go very far with the wards and the sage smoke keeping it contained, but it wasn't weakened by it. Beau was well aware of the curse's strength, all the more necessary for her to maintain her attention.

But it had been her intent to draw it out, whatever was lurking in the human's body, sucking the life out of her. Olivia couldn't see it, but the wilder could, and needed to see it in order to understand what it was. While curses all share a certain something, a common ancestor so to speak, each one was unique in its _rules_. This one in particular was in less than a sharing mood, hence the extended amount of time the ritual was demanding.

Then the energy peaked, the music stopped, and the wilder opened her eyes to see the entity that was the curse coil back into its nest. It knew it was threatened, so it tried to hide.

Beau stood up, stepped out of the circle and approached the bed. She took sage ashes from the stone bowl on the side table and rubbed them into her palms. She looked down on the human in the bed, focusing on the toxic green light that wove its menacing grip around the young hunter. The light in the necklace Beau was wearing flashed bright as the wilder reached out and took hold of the curse. It shivered like a horde of serpents, tendrils writhing in panic and trying to take hold of the wilder by the arms. Beau could sense its fear, feel the magic trying to push her back. There was a slight burning in her own skin, but she stayed fast and began to pull the energy out.

Claire suddenly blinked into awareness with a body wide jerk, reacting to the ritual. She tried to scream against the sensation of being turned inside out, but her voice refused to work. Her good hand searched blindly, eventually snatching hold of a solid form, the wilder's forearm. The few minutes it took for all of this to finally end felt like a hellish eternity.

But once it stopped, sleep dragged her back down.

Beau held the Bad Medicine in her hands, seeing the entity as a bloated worm with a gnashing, sucking mouth on both ends. Horrid creature. The turquoise discs around her neck flashed one last time, taking hold of the curse and detaining it for the time being, rendering it harmless.

The wilder looked at her hands, cringing only a little at the small red stripes left around her wrists, and then to her dwarf counterpart, nodding. "All finished."

The necklace was stored in a lock-box full of salt, just another assurance to keep the curse in its place. The wards around the house were dispelled, the smoke cleared away by a nighttime breeze through the now open windows. The air in the Tannis home not only felt cleaner, but lighter. As were the spirits of those dwelling within. Once assured that all that could be done had been done, most everyone shuffled off to bed or home, and the visiting guild members were given generous leave to make use of anything to be had in the house if they wished.

Matthew would kiss his wife goodnight, mentioning that he would be along in a little while as he encouraged Quistis up the stairs. He would wander back into the den once she was out of sight, lingering in the doorway with his arms crossed. He studied his sleeping visitors, unsure of what he was feeling. Was this nightmare really over? Would Claire survive the night? Why had these folks come from so far to help them? Part of him couldn't believe it was simply out of the goodness of their hearts. But, then again, he could be a bit of a cynic at times.

His head snapped to one side at the sound of creaking floorboards, allowing him to spot the hulking shadow of the wilder in the doorway leading to the kitchen.

"Sorry," Beau stilled, ears flattened. "Beau smelled tea..." she cradled the tiny cup in both hands.

"No, no, it's fine. Help yourself. The least we can do." he put up a dismissive hand with a dip of his chin. "Are you all right?" And he gestured to the bandages on her wrists.

"Beau okay." she smiled, nodding and taking a seat on the floor by the sofa, more wood whining beneath her weight. Olivia rolled over behind her, her glasses falling onto the wilder's thigh. She only glanced at them a moment, finding them fine where they were.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Uh-huh."

"How did you know?" asking Hargo had gotten him next to nowhere, so he couldn't help but try again.

"Beau smelled it on you." she said simply, taking her first sip of tea. "Just like she smell curses," another sip after a small snort, "she smell you're not human."

His brows lifted. "And by that alone you knew you could trust my wife and I?"

The wilder nodded. "If you could not be trusted, you would not be a family to start with."

Matthew took a moment to process it, to let her words really form in his head, and realized she could very well be right.

"Besides, Beau had good feeling."

"How so?"

"Dunno," the wilder's heavy brow furrowed, her ears fluttering. "Ancestors only say so much, but never tell Beau everything. Still, Beau come and help."

"And we're grateful. I wish we could properly repay you." though in his own mind he felt that he never could. Claire was priceless.

"Maybe you will," Beau smiled at him, "someday."

Come the morning Matthew and Quistis would see them off properly, offering thanks, a modest bit of coin, and fresh supplies for their long trip.

"You understand that we were never here, yes?" Olivia lingered on the porch a bit longer.

"Naturally." Matthew nodded in unison with his wife. "Though I would ask again what all the secrecy is about."

Olivia looked to the wagon, to her waiting colleagues, and then back to them. "You see...Beau may very well be the last of her kind. If anything happens to her...an entire culture would disappear."

"Oh no," Quistis seemed genuinely distraught at the admission, "she can't be."

"As far as we know." Olivia nodded slowly. "Everything needed to be just so for her sake. The magic of her people is unique, unlike anything we have ever seen before; no two rituals are performed the same, some of them impossibly intricate, and none of them are on any physical record. Beau's people thrived on oral tradition and ancient songs, never needing to develop a written language.

"But for reasons we have yet to find, there was a sudden, mass die-off. That's when Beau came to La Rochelle seeking refuge. Baroness Kamekala offered her asylum in return for her service to the guild, and allowing our scholars to record her people's traditions. Even now there's so much we don't know. Now do you understand?"

"I meant no offense, I was only curious."

Olivia nodded. "Then you must forgive my severity. Aside from all of that, Beau is my dearest friend. To lose her would be like losing my sister."

"I had no idea." Quistis shook her head, seemingly still shocked by what she heard. "Please, if there is ever a time you need help, don't hesitate to call on us."

"We just may." there was no jest in her tone or expression, and that didn't change when she bid them farewell and stepped off the porch.

 **Part Five**

The results weren't immediate, but that was expected, and the changes were quite small. Changing the bandages was no longer such a challenge or necessity seeing as the worst of the injuries had finally sealed. It was something to be celebrated when Matthew or Quistis could get Claire to wake up, a miracle when she stayed conscious long enough to eat or drink a little something. It wasn't long before they made an effort to establish a pattern, a method to keep her from sleeping herself into wasting away.

Claire could just feel her uncle's palm on her forehead. Part of her struggled to grab hold of the sensation, the other part simply wanted to sleep a little longer.

"Come on, nightingale," he coaxed gently, "rouse yourself, won't you? Your aunt will have breakfast ready in a moment."

Her dulled senses were coming into focus one by one, her eye blinking at the morning sunlight in the room.

"Help me up." she mumbled, raising her good hand.

Matthew would only partially oblige, unconsciously seeing to it that Claire did as much as she was able to on her own. He would brace her shoulders with his palm, steadying her as she gripped his wrist and pulled herself upright. For a moment she was still, catching her breath against the sensation of her ribs pulling inward.

"That's a girl." he smiled a little, stacking an extra pillow behind her so she could lay back if needed. "Here, have some tea." He would keep his hand beneath the cup as she took it from him, her own hand shaking as she raised it to her mouth. She took a few small sips before handing it back to him, nodding in silent gratitude. "You've got a little more color in your face today."

"I want to get out of bed."

"Well...we'll see." he didn't want to say what he was thinking, that she didn't seem strong enough. "Stay awake long enough to clean your plate and we'll talk."

Claire frowned. "You don't need to talk down to me. I'm not a child."

Though Matt could argue, all things considered. Her sitting up like this was a relatively recent development; before he was forced to -more or less- spoon feed her like an infant. "I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean it like that. I just don't want you pushing yourself too far too soon. You understand."

She only nodded, her expression unchanged.

"Don't be so hard on your uncle, Claire," Quistis appeared in the bedroom, tray in her hands, "we came terribly close to losing you. I know how much you hate being coddled -just as much as _we_ do- but you'll just have to stomach it for now."

"Do I have to stomach the lecture too?" she grumbled.

"None of that." Quistis countered, setting the tray across her niece's lap. "I can't stop you from being stubborn, but I'll certainly keep you from being foolish while I'm able. Now eat."

"Though she gets both from us honestly, wife." Matthew grinned a little, refusing to shrink when Quistis glared at him.

"He's right." Claire casually agreed before taking her first bite, which she finally managed after two failed attempts due to her weakened grip.

Quistis crossed her arms as she sat on the far side of the bed, not saying another word on the matter. "Though, in all seriousness, how are you feeling? Any pain?"

Claire swallowed . "No more than I can remember." A slight shake of her head, as that wasn't much of a declaration. Her memory of the last month or so was spotty at best. "Otherwise...just weak."

"That's expected," Quistis nodded, "but now you're eating...just give yourself time."

Already Claire was getting sick of hearing that. Maybe it was the cabin fever feeding her frustration, or just the fatigue still dragging through her; either way, the phrase was getting on her last nerve. Being regularly reminded of one's frailty has never been Claire's idea of time well spent. Still, for now she swallowed it down a little at a time just as she swallowed each small morsel of food.

"At least let me sit on the porch for a while." Claire continued after a quiet spell. "It's warm outside." And she waited, her aunt and uncle surely exchanging glances though she wasn't looking. It's what they always did.

"I could help her manage the stairs," Matt offered.

"Well," she pauses, consideration in the knitting of her brow. "I don't suppose it could do any harm. And it would give me an opportunity to put fresh linens on your bed...once it gets a little warmer."

Claire nods, a minor show of gratitude as she chews. She would finish all but a few bites of her breakfast, which was more than yesterday so it is considered progress. Around noon Matthew would gather her up in his arms, wrapped in a blanket and a rabbit fur house coat, and carry her downstairs.

The early autumn air is crisp and gently stirring under the porch awning, Claire takes a deep breath of it as her uncle eases her into a rocking chair. He tucks the blanket just so, leaving her good arm free to move. She doesn't even realize it when he disappears back inside, she simply enjoys being somewhere other than inside the house. A sense of comfort came over her like she hadn't felt in weeks, enough to put her to sleep by the time her aunt and uncle joined her in the other porch chairs. For a time they just let her be, conversing quietly over their coffee.

Claire awakes on her own, exerting noticeable effort in lifting her head from where it rests against her shoulder. Looking around she sees her uncle is now gone, blinking to make sure she wasn't just seeing things improperly.

"He's gone to town." Quistis answers before she can ask, noticing the mild scrunch to her niece's face. "We need a few things, that and I think he was getting a little cabin fever."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine, dear, really." Quistis rocks her chair with one foot, legs crossed. "Also the moon is coming around again, so he can't help himself."

"Ah, you're right. How soon?"

"By week's end, I believe." she simply sighs, tipping back her head.

Claire nods looking down in her lap. "So how long has it been since I hunted the wyrm?"

Her aunt was quiet for a moment, perhaps choosing simply not to answer right away. Then she rights her head and adjusts in her seat. "A little more than a month...closer to two. Yes, I think that's right." she pushes her glasses up her nose. "Do you not remember?"

"...Yes and no." Claire looks away, beyond the end of the porch to the moving form of the neighbor across the way. "I couldn't forget the face of that monster if I tried...and I know you and Uncle Matt were with me...was I taken to a hospital?"

"Landis Abbey."

"Ah." Claire nods, eyes back in her lap. "But you were there, I remember your voices, and...then it's just...sensations, I guess. Feelings."

"Such as?" genuine curiosity shows in one arched marigold brow.

"I'm sure you can guess. Desperation...I was terrified...helpless," and she lost the rest of the statement in her thoughts. _The pain had swallowed me and I didn't know how to fight back._

"Then you're quite right, I can guess. To be honest Matthew and I were feeling the same. We were so scared for you," she turns her head towards her, hoping to catch Claire's gaze but unable, "we were convinced we would lose you."

"Hm." again she only nods.

A breeze moves across the porch, easing them through a quiet moment with less discomfort.

"Do you think I'll ever hunt again?"

Both brows raise this time, Quistis' glasses sliding a little. "Pardon? What makes you ask that?"

Claire glares with her one good eye, though her aunt surely felt the full severity of the expression in spite of the bandages still covering the other. "Really?"

Quistis clears her throat and swallows. "Well, I mean...you've always been so determined. Remember the Tantalus contract?"

"I do, but that isn't this. We knew what we were dealing with then...this time,"

"Darling, it's just too soon to know. Much too soon. You're still healing, still trying to get your strength back. You'll have to be more patient, as much as I know you hate to hear it."

She takes a cautiously deep breath and sighs, pulling her good hand over one side of her face. "What if I never can? What if...am I just going to be a cripple?"

"You're not a cripple Claire, you're just weak. Do you realize this is the most we've been able to talk to one another in the past month? Not to mention how long you've managed to stay awake. You're getting better already, just...baby steps."

"But I'm not a baby anymore."

"Your uncle and I realize that, but we also realize you need close looking after right now. We're trying our best to do that without insulting you, but you need to help us. Let us do what we must."

Claire only shrugs, perhaps expecting a response like that. She found herself feeling particularly bitter at the moment. "But isn't that what you want?"

"Hm?"

"For me to stop hunting."

"Hardly! I almost don't believe you said such a thing, to my face even! Claire, I thought you knew me better."

"I know you were against me starting in the first place."

"But I still trained you, didn't I?"

No answer.

"Claire, give me a little credit. By all rights you're my daughter, I love you, so naturally I don't want you in any danger. But, by the same token, you _will_ do what satisfies you." Quistis wouldn't say _what makes you happy_ as a part of her was convinced nothing ever made Claire genuinely happy. "I'll admit that I wish you would give it up, but only by choice, not because you couldn't continue."

Claire still said nothing, the dip of her chin almost giving off the look of a sulking child.

"In any case, hunter or not, you're still human and you need to allow yourself to be one for now. Understand?"

Claire nods without a word, perhaps not having any.

"Now how about we occupy ourselves otherwise? I'd hate to overstress you. Maybe a game of chess? I could even bring a table outside,"

"That would be fine."

"More tea, dear?"

Claire shakes her head, giving her aunt leave to move back inside. She would return only minutes later, a folded table and chessboard beneath her arm. The older huntress produces the ivory and smoky quartz pieces from a silk bag and puts them in the proper order on the board before pulling up the other rocking chair closest to her.

"Would you like to go first?"

"Be my guest."

Quistis finds a little comfort in the gesture, Claire never being one to make the first move and preferring to play off her opponent. The first few moves pass without a word, the two sizing each other up and beginning to think several plays ahead, per the usual.

Quistis moves her knight forward, one to the right. "What else do you remember?"

"Hm?" Claire has a bishop beneath her hand, which she pulls back after feeling too distracted to remember her initial move. "Oh, nothing really, just parts of things, I think. And funny dreams."

"Do tell," her aunt smiles a little, "a laugh might do us good."

Claire is quiet for a moment, her brows gently knit in curiosity. "Well...maybe it wasn't a dream, but it couldn't be anything else. Still...did one of the neighbors' cows get out?"

"What? No."

"Then I must have dreamed it." Claire shakes her head, moving the bishop she had intended to before. "Unless there's a minotaur around here we don't know about." Which simply wasn't possible as her uncle had killed the very last of them.

"What is it?" Quistis pushes a rook into place.

"Something with horns was standing over my bed...I know that sounds ridiculous."

Quistis chuckles, "That _does_ sound a little sensational, doesn't it?"

Claire's eyes thin after she takes her aunt's knight. "I know that laugh,"

"What laugh?"

"That one just now...that laugh when I'm on to something you think I shouldn't be..."

The elder huntress clears her throat. "N-no, dear, no, not exactly. Just surprised you held on to that, you were so weak by then." she scowls a little, equally touched by the memory as she was by losing her piece. "But rest assured you weren't imagining things nor was it the neighbor's livestock. Check, by the way."

Claire opens her eye a little wider, studying to board, distracted momentarily. "Damn...that was fast. But," she quickly takes her turn and looks up again, "what was it then?"

"Once your uncle gets back we'll talk about it. A bit hard to explain by myself, you see."

"That's a first. I can only imagine...damn."

"What's wrong?"

Claire shakes her head. "I'm out of moves."

"Ah," blond brows raise, "so you are. Another game?"

"I can't let you off that easy, can I?" a little smirk.

 _(-)_

Quistis slept in late for the first time in years. Always so regimented, staying in bed any later than sunrise was almost a mortal sin. But the chance to sleep so soundly _and_ all through the night was such a rare opportunity that she just couldn't resist. Matthew was away on a contract so she was spared his snoring, and a seizure hadn't torn Claire out of an already feeble sleep, so Quistis was free to enjoy the sanctity of her sheets for nearly two extra hours.

Once up and about she goes through her usual routine, combing her hair and dressing per the usual easy pace. With her glasses in place she leaves the room and aims for the stairs, beginning to feel those two extra hours in her empty stomach.

"Claire, are you awake?" she calls out gently. Her niece had been able to rouse herself most mornings now.

"I am."

The response echoes through the house, though not from the young woman's room as Quistis expects. Claire had been trying to move more on her own, so the thought that she had made it down the stairs put a sizable blossom of confidence in the huntress.

"Where are you dea- _oh my_ _goodness_!" she hustles down the staircase, one hand just hovering over the banister as she speeds to the landing on the ground floor where her niece sits, propped against the wall in the rabbit skin housecoat. "What happened?"

"My leg." Claire can't look her in the face. "Almost made it to the bottom and then it just...locked up. Lost my balance."

"Are you hurt?" now kneeling in front of her she cranes her head this way and that, trying to see any new bruises or blemishes. There's a thin crimson smudge at her niece's hairline that makes her heart sink. "Why didn't you call for me?"

"I'm fine." Claire insists, the protest gentle.

For a moment Quistis can only look at her, feeling a margin of helplessness. Then she shrugs. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Yes."

"Can you stand?"

"I can try." she isn't about to say _help me_ , but she still extends a hand for her aunt to take and pull her to her feet again. Claire tests the traitorous limb, finding the seize had passes and it would move again. While she let go of Quistis' hand, her aunt stayed close by until she had made it to the sofa.

"Can I get you anything?"

"New body parts."

"That would make me a necromancer, my dear. How about breakfast instead?"

"Fair enough."

Claire watches Quistis leave the room, brow low, expression shady. Gingerly she lays back against the cushions, a little sigh easing out. For a time her mind is full of static, trying to focus on the stray noises of her aunt moving about the kitchen, trying not to really think but failing.

She feels all sorts of things roiling in her stomach: frustration, shame, a faint desire to claw out of her own skin in the hopes of being like a butterfly bursting from its cocoon in spring. Maybe things would be better if she could crawl free of this flesh she now feels trapped in. Walking down the stairs shouldn't have been such an undertaking, she had done it a million times before. And at the very last few steps to boot! Just as she put pressure on her injured leg she felt the telling clench of a seizure in her hip, and then down she went, smacking her face hard to the floor. Gods-be-damned.

The thoughts dissipated once Quistis returned, plates in hand. The two eat mostly in silence, only small talk passing between them until the meal was finished and the dishes returned to the kitchen.

"You're not going to tell Uncle Matt I fell, are you?" Claire finally meets her aunt's eyes.

"Heaven's no, the poor man would have a coronary." the huntress sharply shakes her head. "But I'll tell him the truth...you made it down the stairs by yourself. I mean, I'm not lying, right?"

Claire almost laughs. "Of course."

"Well, then that's that. He could use some good news for a change." hands on her hips and with a curt nod. "Now...do you still want to take those bandages off, see how that other eye of yours is healing?"

For a moment she's silent, then a hesitant nod.

Quistis fetches the usual accoutrements for bandage changing duty, not that Claire's wounds were still livid enough to necessitate it, but simply to cover the damage up. Something the huntress understood well enough to be sure, and Claire's impending scars would far exceed her own.

"I'm blinking just fine, I think." she says, straightening and becoming still as Quistis began undoing the small, loose knot that held the wrappings in place. Claire was convinced she was permanently blind in that eye, considering she had yet to see anything through it since the injury. But the rest of her was healing well, maybe the gods would be willing to cut her a break.

"Anything?"

"I think so." Claire responds as she feels the pressure of the bandages lessen. She could definitely make out a change in the light coming through the linen. Still she held her breath just a little. "How does it look?"

"Honestly? ...It's rough."

The scarring was uneven and textured like an oil burn, rippled and pocked in places without a pattern. It covered her cheekbone and most of her face on that side, down to the jawline. It almost touched the right edge of her lips, and the smallest reddish-pink knot of healed tissue rested on the lobe of her right ear. At the most extreme edges of the blemish remained the last vestiges of where the wound sealed, speckles of scabs that would likely fall away in a day or two.

"Open up, dear."

Claire forced herself to open her eyes, blinking as unfiltered light touched her right eye for the first time in weeks.

"Well?"

"I..." Claire exhales, "I can see."

"Oh, that's a relief." Quistis deflates, smiling. "Here, let me have a closer look...seems terribly irritated." it looked red, dry. The skin around it was mildly inflamed.

"Feels tender, but...it's not so bad."

"Well, as long as it isn't causing you too much trouble...I suppose we don't have to wrap it again. Unless you want to, that is."

"...No, it's fine. Better I learn to live with it now. Is it that bad?"

"I don't believe so, no; I've certainly seen much worse. Although...looks like your hair isn't growing back."

"What?"

"This part here," her fingertip follows the shortened ends, where the fire singed it, from her temple to the nape of her neck. "I mean, it suits you somehow, but it doesn't look like it'll grow long again."

"Hm, well, if that's the worst of it, I'll take it."

"I suppose so. Maybe in a few more days we'll look at that hand, what do you think?"

"I'll let you know." Claire nods a little, putting her good hand across her neck and pulling down with a little shrug. The fingers of her other hand flex unconsciously beneath the housecoat and bandages. "I think I want to rest a while."

"Should I help you upstairs?"

"I'd like to stay here, if I can." anything to keep from being cooped up in that room again.

"Of course, I'll fetch you a blanket and pillow. I'll open a couple windows too. It's not too cold for you yet, is it?"

"I'll be all right."

"Very well, dear, I'll be back."

Claire would be asleep before Quistis returned, so she simply does her best to make her comfortable without waking her and eases off to the study.

 _(-)_

Matthew is always one to push, that's how he survives. The only way he knows how to live. It's how he made it home from the war as well as his hunts. It's his personal philosophy to push not only himself, but those he wishes to protect. Claire was no different. Now the two square off in the open span of grass behind the house, Claire's face red with fatigue. For the last seven months Matthew has been pushing her, trying his best to prepare her to face her decision of continuing to hunt. In reality, he pushes her most of all, always has. Because he loves her, because she needs him to.

Without warning he lunges forward with his cavalry saber, the first of several quick movements that sweep the blade with deadly precision within mere millimeters of Claire. He is counting on her to react, which she does just that. She manages him as well as he expects, pushing his blade aside with her own instead of meeting it, trying to move in to take away his swinging power. She tries to pull his front leg out from under him by hooking her own foot behind his ankle, tries but fails. The attempt brings her in close enough for him to circle her waist with his arm, and with his brute strength he lifts her up and puts her on the ground. Harder than he means to, mind you, but as hard as he knows she needed it to be.

Claire doesn't stay down long, not a second passes before she quickly rolls onto her stomach and scrambles to her feet.

"Better get up faster than that if you're going to put your back to me,"

Just as she straightens she feels the heavy push of her uncle's boot against her backside, putting her chin in the dirt. A swear cuts between her teeth as she twists onto her back, springing upward in spite of the telling clench in her hip and shoulder. Claire comes back hard and fast, pushing Matthew back. Only so far, though, until Matthew reaches out and snatches her sword arm at the wrist. Gripping hard enough to make the scar tissue crackle in pain. Claire swings with her empty hand, connecting with the hard bend of his cheekbone to send him staggering back. Internally he's proud; reactions like that should still be second nature. He withholds his praise until the lesson is over.

But he still has to push, there is no yes or no in the matter. As much as he doesn't want to do it like this. Matthew waits, drawing her in with misleading swings and advances. He wants her to open herself up, make even the smallest mistake. Extend too far, wait too long...anything. And it comes with an almost textbook perfect lunge -almost perfect. Her almost miniscule overcompensation allows him to grab her sword arm again at the wrist, but this time he follows through with a large step forward and a turning of his hand to twist the limb tight behind her. He pushes upward, surely bunching all the muscles Claire's shoulder. Her grunt of pain yanks at his heartstrings, he wants to let go as she struggles against him. But he can't, he _has_ to make sure she _knows_.

God above it hurts, like a white hot iron lancing through all the muscles and bones in her shoulder. It takes ever ounce of strength not to scream, but Claire can't stop the hot tears forming in her good eye and falling over her cheek. Her jaw is vice-tight, her breaths are choking in and out. She holds out as long as she can, anything so she won't have to swallow the shame of giving up. But she can't help herself.

"Yield," she twists out, "I _yield_."

Matthew doesn't let go. "Your mark isn't going to accept that."

She knows, gods she know that! " _P-please_ let go," more tears spill from her eye.

"I know it hurts," his tone is neutral, never mind how much it kills him to do it like this, "but you have to learn the pain, Claire. Learn so you can function through it."

A hard exhale, trying to conceal a whimper. "I...I-I can't. Please..." She can feel it, a seizure was coming.

"Yes you can. _Focus_."

"I _can't_!" she finally cries, wrenching hard with all of her strength to get out of his grip, counting on him to let go. Once she feels his hand loose her wrist her knees buckle, her good hand going to her throbbing shoulder. Sweet gods above it hurts.

Matthew scowls, eyes trained on her kneeling in the grass. He feels awful. "I'm sorry, but-,"

"Don't." she bites back, panting. "I get it. You do what you have to." her words are quick, pointed, to the point so she doesn't have to focus too much on them. She's still waiting for the joint to lock up. "I can't feel my fingers."

Her uncle winces. "Maybe...it's too soon for that. I'm sorry."

"You're still right. The mark won't care how much it hurts. By the same token... _anyone_ who finds out...I'm at a disadvantage. Like a wounded doe."

"It's true." he won't sugar coat it for her. Never has, never will. "You can still change your mind, Claire. There's no shame in it."

"M-maybe not for you." she stutters bitterly through a fresh charge of pain. "What the _hell_ am I supposed to do with myself if not hunt?"

"I," though he speaks, he really has no answer.

"I'm _not_ going to live my life any other way...otherwise it just isn't living. I refuse to lock myself up in that house to shrivel up and _die_." She swallows, taking a deep breath before forcing herself to stand up. Sweat rolls down her face and neck, shimmering in the afternoon sun just as her eyes as she looks at Matthew. "I know you don't want that for me."

"Of course not. But I certainly don't want you dead out there, either."

"'That is a hunter's lot'...isn't that how it goes?"

"Aye, it is." he nods once."

"Then I'd rather do it on my feet than in a bed. You understand?"

"I do."

"Then let's get back to it."

"Let's rest a moment, for your hand's sake."

"My hand's fine." and as sure as she sounds, she still flexes the fingers to be sure. They tingle, but obey her command. "Come on. Again." and she raises her saber, ready.

Matthew shakes the last of his guilt with a proud smirk. Maybe she'll pull through after all.

 _(-)_

Claire had been to Sanctum before, once or twice. Not in some time, however, so she questions herself about knowing where she's going as she pushes passed countless faceless people in the late evening. Though no one would guess it by the way she carries herself, looking around using only her eyes instead of turning her head and gawking like some tourist. Which is likely the best case scenario, it would keep people from asking where she meant to be.

She skulks through a column of red light from a lantern overhead, the weight and scent of the air changing almost immediately as she comes from the dark space between two buildings and into the main thoroughfare. It's heavier here, the air, and it has the strangest mixture of smells lingering through it. Cigars, beer, perfume, a combination full of promises and caution. Caution that Claire has no intention of heeding.

She passes by a cluster of bars and card halls without a second thought. She isn't here for that. She follows the red lanterns further and further down, almost to the end of the burrow that culminated in a sort of cul de sac. The businesses in this part of town liked to crowd each other; the bars, the gambling dens...the brothels. For a moment she props herself on a lamp post, looking about for the first time, more so in a contemplative than inquisitive way. Claire knows where she is, why she's here, but she had to wonder...was this worth it? I mean, she works hard for her gil...yet tossing some of it to a prostitute is suddenly so high on her to-do list. She had never been with anyone before...would it be any good? All the men she had ever met seemed to think so, and most women simply didn't talk about it. What's one to do?

 _To hell with it._

One bordello is just as good as another she tells herself, boot heels scraping as she makes a sharp turn and starts walking, not caring which door she walked through. She ignores the bigger man that knocks into her as he walks out the same door she's trying to enter. She feels heat gathering in her cheeks as she pushes through a shimmering curtain of amethyst beads, tugging on the collar of her shirt a little as she comes into the main entryway.

The madame immediately catches her eye, the light from numerous lamps highlighting her bright platinum hair. Like a silver fox, with a pewter comb adorned in raven feathers just above her ear. She stands up from behind her desk, rising like a spirit in a midnight blue dress, and moves towards Claire with a smirk.

"Welcome to Pandora's Box," she almost purrs, "I'm Pandora."

Claire swallows. Sweet gods, what had she gotten herself into?

The madam laughs, it's a genuinely amused sound, no malice behind it. "Oh dear, you're certainly new here, aren't you?" it's like she drops the act, suddenly seeming human. "My name's actually Scyllia. What can I do for you, hunter?"

"I..." her jaw stalls, her eyes on everything but her, "I want a room."

One silvery brow spikes, her smile widening. " _Just_ a room?"

"Well...no."

"Speak up, honey."

"I want a girl, too. I have money."

"Then I think we can do business." a smooth nod. "What's your type?"

"My what?"

"What are you into? Blondes, brunettes? I'd offer a red head but she's busy."

"I...well...what would you recommend?" she wasn't about to reveal her inexperience, not to the woman's face. But, in all reality, she didn't have to. This wasn't Scyllia's first day on the job.

"Let me see." she starts moving her gaze around the room, down into the small bar to the left, into the parlor to the right, catching the eyes of all of her available girls and gauging their interest. At best they appear curious, but none of them seem keen to take up the offer. "Well...damn. I would take you if I had the patience for first time jitters...maybe-,"

"I'll take her."

Scyllia smiles, turning half way around to look to the landing of the one staircase in the building. "Ah, perfect timing. So you're game?"

"Gil is gil." The woman looks in her early to mid twenties, pretty, soft featured with sable hair and warm brown eyes. All she is wearing is a scarlet housecoat. A stiff breeze would've been enough to ruin the mystery.

Scyllia turns back to Claire, still smiling. "Looks like you're in luck. Have fun ladies."

Claire can't help but just stare at the woman on the steps for a moment, eyes wide. Yet, as anxious as she is, she easily heeds the curl of the woman's finger, walking not too eagerly towards the stairs to follow her. She tries not to hear the telling noises from the other rooms she passes, keeping her eyes focused on the back of the call girl's head. Still she wonders if this was a good idea.

"Where are you from?"

There's a slight jump in her stride at the question. "J-just came from Junon. Passing through."

"And you're a hunter?"

"Yeah."

"Headed home?"

"Yeah."

"So where's home?"

"Winhill."

"Oh? All the way out there? So what do you think of Sanctum?"

"Been here before...couple times. Not much has changed." an empty chuckle.

"Not much does." a small laugh in return. "Here we are."

Claire feels a hot twist in her stomach as the two of them stop outside of one of the rooms. Her posture shifts, almost uncomfortable as the woman opens the door for her and shows her in.

"Pardon the mess."

Not that her room is a disaster. The bed looks hastily made, perhaps the poorly hidden evidence of a previous client. There's the strange, unexpected odor of something Claire can't readily identify. She looks the space over, finding the source; a collection of tins and pots of paint sitting on a small table beside an easel. The smell was from the turpentine.

She steps inside, attention occupied on the walls. "All these yours?"

"Yeah."

"...They're good."

"Thanks."

Claire shifts on her feet again. "...I don't even know your name."

The woman smirks over her shoulder at the hunter, her hands pulling down the blankets on the bed. "Lebreau. And yours?"

"...Do I have to use my real name?"

"You're so cute." Lebreau laughs behind her hand. "Not if you don't want to. I'll call you whatever you want."

Claire swallows hard again, her mind quietly spinning with innuendos. "L-Lightning. You can call me Lightning."

"Ooh, sounds exotic." her smile widens, the look having a particular charm. "Well, Lightning," she tries the name on, finds it suitable, "what is your pleasure?"

Lightning feels heat rushing into her face again. She can't find the words to describe what she wants; hell, she doesn't know what she wants. All she can do is jerk a leather purse full of gil from inside her coat and toss it towards her, a metallic jingle cutting the heavy air when it flops on the bed.

Lebreau's eyes cut to it, following it even as the bag leaves the hunter's hand. Call it habit.

"How much will this get me?"

The call girl picks it up, weighs it in her hand, brows lifting. "For this much I'd keep you for half a week." she laughs again. "I can't take this much for just one night."

"W-why not?" there's a little confidence in the question, an attempt at flirtation. "H-how about...we just see where the night takes us? See if I'm worth the trouble."

Lebreau drops the purse to the floor and pushes it under the bed, palms pressing together in front of her as she giggles. "Oh you _are_ adorable. Well then why not take a load off? Get comfortable?"

How does one get comfortable when they're nervous enough to cut and run? Lightning had faced down a pack of werewolves once, on her own, and wasn't half the bundle of nerves that she is now. Her hands shake as she shrugs out of her long leather coat and numerous pouches and satchels, which Lebreau takes with a knowing grin. Lightning watches her move about the room, making note of everything she does simply out of habit.

"Have a seat?"

No words, though she tries to reply. Her jaw works to form a response but abandons it. She almost hurries across the room to the bed, sitting down, looking tense and unsure of what to do. Tension winds up her back as Lebreau approaches her, kneeling down in front of her. She watches the woman begin to pull her boots off.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm sure you've had a long day," Lebreau tilts her head, shoulders inching, "bet your feet are sore as a boil."

"W-well...not really, but,"

"Just trust me, honey, you'll like it."

Somehow the way she said that last part made her body flash hot. And the feeling rebounds and morphs when Lebreau discovers the silk wrappings around her right ankle.

"Never seen something like this before." she doesn't seem put off at all. "Something nasty try and take it?"

"Y-you could say that, yeah."

"Should I not touch it?"

"Just be gentle." the wound was over two years old now, she had gotten mostly used to it.

"All right. Was it the same thing that got your face?"

Lightning just nods, turning her head so the other woman didn't have the chance to stare.

"No need to be shy, honey. It's not so bad."

"You haven't seen all of it."

The conversation shifts away from the scars, what little conversation they share. Lightning would admit, she did actually like having her feet rubbed. Lebreau had terribly soft hands. It helped to not only ease her sore heels, but the nervousness started to ebb as well. When Lebreau asks about Lightning's latest hunt, there's hardly any hesitation before she starts retelling the events as they happened. The Demogorgon of Junon had always been thought of as a myth, that is, until livestock started disappearing in droves. Nothing left of them save for husks of skin filled with teeming nests of biting flies. The flies brought rampant disease to the people in the nearest three villages, necessitating the call for a hunter.

"So what did it look like?" Lebreau stands up, gesturing with curling fingers that she do the same. "Your shirt?"

"Hm? Oh...okay." Lightning carefully unlaces the collar of the garment before pulling it over her head. "But, you know, having _gorgon_ in its name didn't make me too eager to catch a glimpse of it."

"Ah, fair enough." she takes the shirt and folds it over her arm, draping it over the chair at the vanity along with the hunter's coat. "Did you see it at all?"

"Y-yeah." the heat's in her face again, she resists the urge to cover herself. "Got to admit...the ugliest thing I've ever laid eyes on."

"I can imagine. Then again, maybe it's better if I didn't." Lebreau laughs, looking the hunter over again. Looking over more scars that are coupled with the visible strength of Lightning's musculature. "You know...we can stop. I'll give you your money if you don't want to do this."

"N-no." a quick answer, as if the words fall out. "I'm just...I've never done this before...with anyone."

One sable brow lifts. "Is that so?" she shakes her head, still smirking. Not that she thinks the hunter is lying, the truth is all over her face in crimson blossoms across her cheeks. "You sure?"

"Yes."

"All right. How about I get some wine from downstairs? Kind of help settle your nerves..."

"Um...yeah, sure. I prefer red."

"No kidding? A woman after my own heart, you are." a chuckle escapes. "Why don't you settle in while I'm gone? There's another robe if you want it." Lebreau points to the wardrobe across the room.

"...Thanks."

Lebreau brings back two bottles of wine, thinking getting the hunter really liquored up will help things along. Usually does, although most of the time hunters come in here mostly drunk to start with. She sets the glasses down on the vanity alongside the extra bottle, popping the cork on the one in her hand. There's amusement painted across her features as she spies Lightning standing in front of the easel, contemplating the half finished painting. She's still wearing the leather breeches Lebreau had left her in.

"It isn't done."

"It's really good." the compliment is genuine, though Lightning never thought herself as much of an art connoisseur. She looks at Lebreau, seeming surprised. "Is this the skyline?"

"Just outside the window, yeah." she's visibly proud with both glasses in hand. She moves to Lightning's side, passing off her share of the wine.

"Why aren't you doing _this_ for a living?"

"Because _that_ doesn't make much of a living." she inches her shoulders before taking a sip, her other hand on her hip.

"That's a shame." Lightning takes her fist sip, finds she likes the vintage before finishing the entire glass.

Lebreau's face stretches. "Sweet Etro's grace."

"Etro's got nothing to do with it. I'll have another, if you don't mind."

"My pleasure." this was going to be easier than she thought.

Lebreau keeps showing her paintings, giving her wine and encouraging whatever conversation she could get out of her. It takes some wrangling, like trying to corral a stubborn animal, but she eventually gets Lightning to sit on the bed, the blush on the hunter's cheeks now caused by the alcohol instead of her nervousness. Lebreau walks the room to put out most of the lamps, leaving one by the door still lit as not to put them in total darkness. That had put more clients to sleep in the past than having served to get them in the mood.

"So am I going to have to fight you out of those pants?" she laughs.

"No...just...I'll take them off in a minute." Lightning sits on the bed, back propped partially against the headboard.

Lebreau watches her eyes, how they can't settle on anything, constantly moving from one place to another. "No rush, honey, I'm just playing. You need to relax...I mean, if you really want your money's worth."

"I guess." she responds, distant. She gives the call girl her full attention when she climbs onto the bed, lying on her side to face her. "You know...you're beautiful."

"You think so?" there's a certain smugness to her humming exhale. "That's nice to know. You know what else would be nice?"

One rosy brow piques.

"A kiss."

Lightning's brow knits gently. "I...I don't know if I would be any good at it. One side of my mouth doesn't work right." she flinches, her right hand moving to her face, to cover it.

"Why don't you let me see for myself, honey?" Lebreau rises to her hands and knees, inching closer.

"It's just...I don't-," she stops, eyes wide when Lebreau hushes her with a finger to her lips.

"Just relax, okay? Can you do that?"

The heated hush of her voice echoes in Lightning's head like a song, ensnaring all of her senses to focus on _her_ and those warm brown eyes.

"It'll be fun, trust me."

It was her first kiss. Lightning had never even entertained the idea of kissing someone else before. Never mind the passing peck on the cheeks of her aunt and uncle, the apex display of affection for them. Not once had she ever considered contact like _this_. The wine is still sweet on Lebreau's lips, a little bitter on her tongue. Lightning inches a half-hearted retreat into the headboard, the wood creaking as she presses against it, shock whipping through her. Doubly so when Lebreau cups her face with both hands to gently keep her in place. Her first instinct is to bolt, of course, as this new territory is almost too much to stomach. There was hardly any room for these new sensations among all the butterflies.

Once the jitters pass she accepts the gesture, swallows the intent to jerk away and tries to focus on how soft Lebreau's lips are.

"How was that? Not so bad?"

Lightning hadn't even realized it was over, her own lips parted with her eyes closed. She snapped out of the little trance to look back at her, face freshly reddened. "Um...y-yeah. I liked it. Can we do it again?"

Lebreau laughs, a leisurely, cat-like sound. "Sure we can. But," her expression morphs again into something almost sinister. One of her hands eases down Lightning's front, over her stomach and the few ridged scars there, to the hem of her leather breeches. "Every time you kiss me, I get to undo one of these buttons."

Lightning swallows. "O-okay."

It was late afternoon before either of them stirred beneath the blankets. Lightning wakes first, taking a moment to collect her thoughts and convince herself last night actually happened. She rolls her bad shoulder, working the usual morning stiffness out of it before trying to stand up. Her hip locks but only for a moment. Thankfully painless. She regards the still sleeping woman briefly, finding a blossom of fondness working through her chest. Carefully, quietly, she moves about the room to collect her things.

"Your other boot is under the bed." Lebreau's voice is half muffled by the pillow, her hand pushes stray raven strands from her face.

"Thanks."

She shifts under the blankets, bothering to keep her nakedness covered for now as she sits up. "Headed home?"

"Yeah, after I cash in my contract." Lightning replies casually, easing her other boot on after having replaced the silk wrapping on her ankle.

"How far?"

"Just a day or two."

It's quiet again, Lebreau seeming content to watch her dress in silence as she nurses the last little bit of wine still in her glass from last night. Lightning is tying the collar of her shirt before she speaks again.

"Was my performance satisfactory?"

A puff of air escapes the hunter. "Really? You're going to say it like that?"

"Not usually, but I was dying to see your reaction." she grins, ear to ear. "You're easily one of my more interesting clients."

"Oh?"

"I don't know what to expect from you. You keep me guessing. You're fun, just like I thought you would be. That is, once I showed you the ropes."

Lightning rolls her eyes a little before turning around. "Then, if you have to know...yeah. I enjoyed it. I, uh...I appreciate you taking me in."

"Oh, honey, please don't make it sound like a pity fuck. It wasn't."

Lightning's expression stretches, surprised. "Then what was it? Aside from the whole _fun_ thing."

"Well, I mean...I'm not going to lie, your money is awfully tempting. Otherwise -I can't help myself sometimes- I like being in charge on occasion."

Lightning clears her throat, suddenly embarrassed. "F-fair enough. Speaking of which, though...I should pay you." She has to retrieve her pouch from beneath bed, pulling open the cinched neck and reaching into it. "Did we even agree on the fee?"

"We never talked about it." she's still smiling. "But I'd say...twenty is enough."

"You're sure? I expected more."

"Do you want to give me more?" she gives a toothy grin.

"Well...I mean..."

Lebreau laughs. "Let's just say twenty is the minimum. Who'd have thought a hunter would be so jittery."

"Put me in a den of werewolves with a raw chop around my neck and I'm as steady as a rock. But get me near a bedroom with a pretty woman and I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."

"Don't feel bad, I tend to do that to a lot of people. Nothing to be ashamed of." she watches as Lightning places a generous stack of coin on her vanity, then fetching her long leather duster and folding it over her arm before stuffing her still bloated pouch into its respective pocket. "So...you think you'll come round again some time?"

"Depends on where the trouble is." it's an honest response. No point in making promises she can't be sure to keep. "If I do...would you still be here?"

Lebreau slips from underneath the blankets, bare, and moves towards her. "Maybe. I could be persuaded to be."

Lightning blushes, clearing her throat, feeling pinned against the door. But the discomfort is brief. She snatches hold of the little courage in her chest and kisses her, a quick snap of motion. She touches her face with none of the hesitation she had last night, the feel of her soft skin beneath calloused fingers coming with a small snap of static.

"Would persuading you cost me extra?"

They share a little laugh.

"I'm feeling generous...I'd be willing to give you a discount."

"I'm never going to get home at this rate. My family will worry."

"I'll be sure to send them a nice letter."

Author's Note: Had this sitting on my hard drive for some time now. Around a year maybe, long enough for my writing style to begin evolving again so the last few passages of this aren't constructed the same. Still, it came out mostly how I wanted it. If I ever get to writing Blood from a Stone I'll be elaborating on some of the themes touched on here. But that is an enormous if. Still, hope you enjoyed it. I really am a sucker. It only took one person asking to read this to make me post it.


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